


The Strength That Keeps Me Walking

by WindySuspirations



Series: Oakmoss and Elderflower [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chronic Pain, Complicated Relationships, Eventual Smut, Evil Inquisitor, F/M, Healers, Healing, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, Massage, POV Cullen Rutherford, Rating is for later chapters, Slow Build, Taking Care Of Cullen, because why not, cullen doesn't wear a lot of clothes, male pov of an existing story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-27 09:58:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13878501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindySuspirations/pseuds/WindySuspirations
Summary: Cullen's lyrium withdrawal is taking its toll on him, so much so, that Cassandra orders him to get help from the healers. Adan assigns him a young healer named Eala who has a sweet smile and blessed hands.OrCullen's POV ofParsley, Sage, Rosemary, and ThymeAttn: This fic has been retitled: Formerly Lavender, Peppermint, Verbena, & Fennel7/6/2018 : Edits to Chapters 3 and 5. Also, now with art!1/17/19: Major edits made including changing this fic from present tense to past tense. Since I wrote Parsley in past tense, I felt that this one should be as well for consistency. If you spot any random present tense remaining, please let me know!





	1. Endure

**Author's Note:**

> So, I decided to do it: write [Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11376066) from Cullen's POV. 
> 
> While you don't necessarily need to read that fic to understand this one, it's probably a good idea to do so. :)
> 
> I've written a lot of fics from Cullen's POV, of course, but this is the first time I am writing a new version of an existing fic from his POV. I am excited about this, but also nervous at the same time. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Please let me know in the comments what you think, and of course, kudos are welcome too!
> 
> 4/15/2018. I changed the title to one more reflective of this story. Sorry for the confusion!

“Again! And for Maker’s sake, use your shields!”

Cullen fought the urge to roll his eyes as he watched his newest recruits struggle with their weapons and shields. He sighed and strove to hold back a wince as he shifted his position.

“Commander, Lady Montilyet requests your signature on these requisitions.”

“Thank you,” he told the harried messenger and accepted a stack of papers from him. With a brisk nod, he dismissed the man and scowled at the paperwork, his eyes quickly scanning the lists as he flipped through each page. Maker’s breath! Casks of Vint-9, Rowan’s Rose, and Antivan Sip-Sip? What in the Void does the Ambassador think they were running here? An army or a brewhouse?

 “Watch it!” he yelled as one bumbling recruit shoved another into him and forced him to stagger back, knocking the papers from his hands. He cursed roundly as white-hot pain lanced into his lower back from his left hip and left him momentarily breathless. A chill wind scattered the requisitions across the snowy turf, sending the hapless recruits chasing after them.

Cullen remained stooped over, breathing shallow breaths as he waited for the pain to subside into the annoying ache it had been before that clod stumbled into him. Maker forgive him, sometimes he despaired of creating an army out of what he had to work with.

“Commander, I’m so sorry! Ser, are you all right?”

“I’m fine — I’m fine —“  his cheeks flushing pink, he waved off the hands trying to steady him as straightened and accepted the crumpled stack of papers from the sheepish recruit. “Back to your drills, all of you!” He gritted his teeth and stuffed the requisitions in his pockets to deal with later. Clenching his jaw, he shouted for the men to move on to the next exercise.

 

* * *

 

Maker’s breath, what a day.

Cullen heaved a sigh and slid into his chair, finally out of his armor and ready to tackle the mountain of reports on his desk before he went to bed. It was late, and he welcomed the quiet and warmth of his tent after his day standing out in the elements.

He stared at the jar of cream peeking out from under a stack of papers. Perhaps — perhaps if he could apply it that damned spot above his left hip, it would help him feel better. He sighed, rubbing his brow. Bloody withdrawals. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. Perhaps he was a fool for thinking he could accomplish what no other Templar had to date.

He fished out the jar and set it on the desk in front of him. Opening it, he lifted it to his nose to sniff it. The scent of oakmoss and elderflower teased his nostrils. Setting it down, he removed his shirt and loosened his pants, wincing at the pain radiating up his spine. Now, he had to figure out how to get the stuff on him without killing himself. He reached into the jar and pulled out a handful and was about to rub it into his lower back when an imperious voice called from outside his tent.

“Commander, may I see you?“

Shit.

He sighed, wiping the cream off on the edge of the jar. “Of course, Seeker. Please come in.“

“Commander, forgive me,” Cassandra entered, stopped in front of his desk and stood with her usual military preciseness. Her steely eyes met his. “I know it is late, but I heard that you had some difficulty today on the practice field. I wanted to check on you. “

Cullen looked away, sweat breaking out on his forehead. What had she heard? He thought he’d been careful.  He cleared his throat before speaking again.  “I —ah —I am fine, my lady. There is no need to concern yourself.“

Her stern, dark eyebrows knit together over concerned gray eyes. “You are having pain, aren’t you?“

“I — I  well, yes — slightly. But I’m fine.”

“I hear a different story from the men,” she crossed her arms over her chest and captured his eyes with her all-seeing stare. “I know you try and hide it, but it’s obvious. While headaches are explainable and common, the way you sometimes stumble and limp around like a man of twice your years is a curiosity. “

Cullen frowned, his eyes squeezing shut. “So what are you telling me, Seeker?  Am I to be replaced, then?”

“No, no nothing like that,” she quickly denied, waving her hands. “I mean only that you need to take better care of yourself. See the healers. Perhaps there is something they can do — even help you with that liniment?”

His cheeks stained pink as his face heated. “I —I couldn’t — um — use Inquisition resources for something so trivial.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise and gave him a look. “The health of our Commander is not trivial! I must insist.”

“Fine.” Cullen sighed and couldn't contain his eye roll. “I’ll see them first thing in the morning. Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to do.”

“Of course. Good night, Commander,” she nodded and marched out of his tent.

 

* * *

  

“Damned clumsy recruits,” Cullen muttered as he trudged up the path to the Healer’s Cottage, feeling every footfall streaking pain into his left hip and lower back. He managed to nod stiffly in response to the greetings thrown his way from the townspeople he passed, but by the time he reached the healers’, he was sweating underneath his armor, and his legs were trembling. He paused at the door, taking deep breaths as he carefully schooled his features into a neutral expression.

Opening the door, he came before a tiny healer seated at a desk in the front. She turned her enormous dark eyes on him, and a pretty blush colored the dusky skin of her cheeks.

“Can I help you, Ser?” her voice was a warm contralto; it seemed to automatically soothe his nerves. He shifted on his feet and smiled at her.

“I — yes. I, ah — need the services of a healer for — um — a personal matter.”

The healer crossed her small hands in front of her. Maker’s breath, she was tiny!

“Of course, Commander. Just let me call for Ser Adan.”

She rose to her feet, and he could see that she was indeed very short, the top of her head barely coming to his shoulder. She flashed him another smile, her teeth shining white against her complexion, before scurrying to the back of the building where Adan no doubt was.

Interesting. He had thought he knew most of the villagers and Inquisition staff, but he hadn’t seen her around before. He shifted on his feet again, subtly knuckling that spot on his lower back. A few minutes later, Adan and the short girl came out of the back. The alchemist paused to salute Cullen and appraised him up and down with shrewd eyes.

“Eala tells me you need a healer. Are you ill, Commander?” he said.

He gave the little healer, Eala, another quick smile and turned his attention to Adan. He explained what he needed, and Adan placed a forefinger on pursed lips and tapped one foot as he thought about it.

“Eala, here, can do it, Commander,” he told him with what was more like a grimace than a smile.

“What?” Eala looked up at the older healer, her pink lips forming an O of surprise. “A-are you sure? H-Heather and Jocelyn — surely they —“

“Nonsense, girl! You are just as capable, and as you can see, they are not here, so you’ll do.” Adan turned to Cullen. “Will that be satisfactory, Commander?”

Cullen assessed the girl and her small hands. Would she be strong enough to get at all his knots? When he noticed a trembling in her lips and the searching look in her luminous dark eyes, his heart tripped over in his chest.

“That’s fine, Adan,” he nodded once at the man, then turned to Eala, “So, I’ll see you — um — in my tent at 17 bells?”

“Yes, Ser,”

“Good. See you then.”

As Cullen left the healers’, he found himself looking forward to his treatment that evening. Although he hated to admit it, Cassandra was right. He was in no shape to properly lead the army like this.

Making his way to the Chantry, Cullen grimaced. Of course, he could have done with all of it by forgetting this fools’ errand and just taking it. Opening the Chantry door, he nodded at the Sisters who were tidying up or in prayers and limped toward the office at the rear that they’d appropriated for council meetings.

He exhaled a breath when he opened the door to find that the other council members, Sister Leliana, Cassandra, and Lady Josephine hadn’t arrived yet. Good. He would have a chance to gather himself before the meeting began. Heavily sitting down on the couch at the back of the room with a loud huff, Cullen rested his head against the cushions and closed his eyes.

 


	2. respite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is so much fun! I love Cullen's POV so much!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has kudosed and/or left a comment on this fic so far! I appreciate each and every one of you more than I can say!
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the update!

“Maker.”

Cullen limped into his tent, his armor weighing him down. He lit several candles and got the brazier going to remove the chill from the air before he slowly started to remove his ichor-stained armor piece by piece.

How long had it been since he’d had a moment to rest much less get an hour of sleep? Days? A week? He couldn’t remember; the days all bled together since the explosion at the Conclave turned into a morass of fighting — of desperately holding together his small army of merchants and plowshares.

He shut his eyes, his heart twisting at all the senseless deaths. Was he cursed? He must be to have witnessed three such cataclysms in his life. The Maker must be punishing him for his failures. Magic had run amok again. But he could not claim that his Templar brothers were clean of corruption this time. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Thinking about it made his ever-present headache worse. Peeling his sweat-stained shirt off his body, he tossed it aside. Ugh. What he needed was a bath, but he doubted he had the energy to make it to the bathhouse.

After he piled his armor and dirty clothing near the front of his tent for laundering and cleaning, he padded to his washbasin and broke the scrum of ice covering the water’s surface with the knuckles of one hand. It fractured, and some of the cold water splashed on his hand and arm. He shivered reflexively. Their only ray of hope came in the form of a mage — an elven one — Dalish from the markings on her face — the townspeople of Haven had already started calling her the Herald of Andraste, of all things. Snatching a nearby cloth, he washed the sweat and dirt off his naked body as best as he could. As he twisted and turned in his ablutions, all the aches in his body the adrenaline rush of the past few days had hidden from him came crashing down upon him.

Cullen wasn’t sure that she had come from Andraste. No, he was no longer so blinded by faith as he might have once been.  He was just bloody glad that whatever power she possessed was able to close those damned rifts and even managed to stop the huge one from raining demons on their heads.

He grimaced and attempted to crack the stiffness out of his neck and back, but he couldn’t get either to go. Groaning in frustration, he gave up and tossed the wet cloth with the rest of his dirty garments. Hm, a session with that little healer would not go amiss right now, but it was so late, and he couldn’t bring himself to send for her. Perhaps a good night’s sleep would help until he could see her in the morning. As if thinking about her summoned her, her soft voice called from just outside the flaps of his tent.

“Commander? Might I come in?”

He looked down at his naked body and winced, recalling her reaction to him stripping down in front of her. “Just a moment, please,” he shouted, and as quickly as his stiff muscles would allow climbed into his cot and pulled the furs over his lap. He cleared his throat. ”Come in.”

At his call, Healer Eala entered, and when she saw him in his bed, quickly averted her eyes and stammered out “Oh! Forgive me! I — I saw your candles and I- I thought you might need me after —“

“It’s fine, Eala,” he reassured her with a soft smile. “In fact, I’m glad you’ve come. I —um, I would be grateful for your assistance,” he ran a hand through his hair, his cheeks heating slightly, “You see, I am in rather a bit of pain just now. And I doubt I’ll be able to sleep without your assistance.”

Her eyes flitted from him to the floor. “I — all right. I — I heard you were fighting for days,” she quickly grabbed the oakmoss and elderflower jar and scurried over to his bed. “Is it your back again?”

He laughed ruefully and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s everything.“

Her full rosy lips turned up in a small smile, making her dark eyes shine in the candlelight and Cullen’s pulse skipped. “Well, let’s start with your back, shall we? Turn over, please, Ser.”

“As my lady wishes,” he teased but did as she asked, making sure to keep the furs securely around his waist. As he settled on his stomach, crossing his arms under his head he added softly “Really, Eala, you need not be so formal. I wish you would use my given name.”

When she said nothing, he decided to let it go again. He was too tired and sore to push it. He sighed and waited for her to start working on him.

Her touch, when it came started off soft; just a simple laying on of hands, one at his nape and the other at the base of his spine. She held them there for a while, murmuring “Just relax, Commander. You are always so tense.”

“I know I am.” He sighed as the scent of oakmoss and elderflower filled his senses. The cream made a slick sound as she spread it over his back, and then the magic happened. She started kneading his neck and shoulders, and his muscles and bones shifted under her hands. A groan left him as his vertebrae popped back into place. “Maker, that feels —“

“Let everything go, Commander,” her voice was soft, perfectly pitched to be soothing, “part of your problem is that you are so stressed.”

She moved lower, pressing delicious circles into his muscles. When she got to the base of his spine, she dragged her thumbs up it and cracked his entire back. He couldn’t describe the feeling; it was just a release, a sudden letting go, and it felt amazing.

“Ah!  Maker, please don’t stop.”

He never wanted her to stop. It felt too damned good. Already, he felt looser, and his tiredness fell upon him like a cozy blanket. 

He buried his head in his crossed arms and let out a long, relieved sigh as she started again from his neck and worked her way down, sliding slick hands over his muscles, thumbs and fingers digging into them wherever she found a knot. How long she worked on him like this, he didn’t know, because he fell asleep with her hands still on him. And in the morning when he woke, he was surprised that he slept through the night without nightmares and felt rested for the first time in ages.

He sighed, stretching under his furs and smiled. That woman’s hands were a gift from the Maker. And she was due back here shortly.  He rose to stoke the brazier and quickly got back into bed to wait for her.


	3. within the wings of the storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, an update!
> 
> Slow writer is very slow. 
> 
> Anyway, here's a new chapter for you. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are welcome. Thanks to everyone who has done so already: you have my eternal gratitude.
> 
> 7/6/2018: Edited to add the scene where Cullen is snuggling with Eala in bed after his migraine. What was he thinking? Now you'll know!

“Well, Commander, you clean up admirably well,” the Herald, Lysarah as she had asked him to call her, drawled, her pale blue eyes surveying his form.

Cullen couldn’t help but preen a little, standing up straight and fussing with the material of his thin white shirt. He smiled down at the Herald, his cheeks flushing a little under her regard.

“I am pleased you think so, Lysarah,” he looked around the village square, at the lanterns strung above the tables piled high with food and the stage where Maryden played her lute. “Are — are you hungry? Shall we sample some of the fare the fine people of Haven have prepared?”

“Of course, Cullen,” she wrapped one arm around his, and together they weaved through the crowd toward the food. Varric was sitting on a barrel with a pint in one hand a plate filled with food in the other. He winked at them and Cullen sent a warning scowl his way.

Grabbing a pair of plates, he handed her one, and they began to pile food on them. The scent of roasted august ram teased his nostrils, making his mouth water and reminding him of summer evenings spent around a roaring fire with his family after a long day’s work on the farm. His father, a normally taciturn man, became almost jovial on those evenings as he turned a ram on a spit, its cracklings sizzling as they fell into the fire.

“Mmm, this reminds me of home,” he told her after popping a morsel of ram meat into his mouth. He licked the juices from the meat off his fingers and looked at her plate which had a scant amount of meat and some roasted vegetables on it. He offered her a piece, “Try this.”

She smiled, her teeth flashing as she held his hand in her talon-tipped fingers and took the bit of ram meat and his fingers together into her mouth. His heartbeat accelerated as her tongue swirled around them, licking off the juices before releasing them.

“You’re right,” she licked her lips, “it’s quite delicious.”

He laughed. “Of course, I am. There is nothing tastier than Fereldan cuisine, especially when one is sharing a summer’s eve with such lovely company.”

“Why, Commander, you know how to make a girl blush,” she pretended to fan her face with her hand, but the grin she gave him was anything but innocent.

He raised an eyebrow but decided to pursue the wicked promises in her eyes later. Now, it was time to enjoy a good meal, and for once, he didn’t feel like he was neglecting his duties for personal pleasure. They found a table at which to sit, and as they worked their way through the rich fare, they spoke about their lives. Cullen told her about growing up on the farm in Honnleath and a little about his Templar training. In turn, Lysarah revealed that she was the First of her clan, destined to become Keeper after Keeper Deshanna retired.

“Do you miss home?” Cullen asked, wiping his mouth with a kerchief and reaching across the table to take her hand in his.

She laughed. “Actually, no. I was glad to get away. It was stifling, and some of the hunters were starting to pursue me,” she made a face, “I’m not ready to be tied down.”

Cullen’s heart sank a little. Not that he was ready to ask her to marry him, but he couldn’t say that he didn’t see a future for them — after all this was over — maybe settling down on a small farm, not unlike his childhood home. 

“I can understand wanting to get away,” he said, squeezing her hand gently. “When I left Ferelden for Kirkwall during the blight, I was glad to go.” He got up and offered his hand to her. “Care for a walk to help aid the digestion?”

She smiled at him and took his hand, allowing him to draw her to her feet. “Of course, Commander,” she said.

They walked around the village, pausing to admire the strings of lights and to listen to Maryden play. Eventually, they wandered over to the Chantry steps and sat down. As Cullen sat, his shirt gaped open and Lysarah ran her fingers over its edges. His skin burned where her fingers brushed against it and his breathing hitched.

“Taking a page from Varric’s fashion sense, are you Commander?”

“It is hot,” he rejoined, even though his cheeks flushed. Well, it was! And from how she was looking at him, he didn’t think she minded the sight of his bare chest overmuch.

She chuckled, a pleasant sound that settled over him like a warm blanket. “It is,” she agreed, "from more than just the weather."

The heady scent of her perfume combined with the music and the feel of her warm body next to his set fire to his blood and desire uncoiled deep in his belly. He leaned in close and took her hand in his, ready now to take her up on the earlier promises in her eyes. “Is it now?” he purred in her ear.

“Oh, Commander, I think you know the answer to that question,” she brushed her fingers over his lips and stood, breaking the moment. “Will you walk me back to my cabin? We’re leaving tomorrow for the Fallow Mire, and I need to make sure I am rested.”

“Of course,” he drawled, not allowing himself to be fazed by the change. Perhaps she’ll ask him in for tea.

Together, they strolled down the narrow streets of Haven until they came to her cabin near the gates. At her door, she turned to him and smiled, rosy lips parting over white teeth.

“Thank you for escorting me home,” she said, her hand on the doorknob.

He bowed his head. “You are welcome, Herald.”

They stood so close, close enough for him to — before he could second guess himself, he leaned down and captured her mouth in a soft kiss. Her lips were cool and tasted faintly of mint, but rapidly warmed from his attentions and, though at first, her body was stiff in his arms, she was soon molding her body to his, her long nails twisting in the hair at his nape.

When he released her, she smiled at him and brushed a thumb across his lips. “Thank you for a pleasant evening, Cullen. I’ll see you in the morning before I leave?”

He cleared his throat, his brain still fuzzed from the kiss. “I — yes, of course,” he executed a bow and watched her open her door and head inside.

As he walked to his tent and his own bed, he grinned, touching his fingers to his lips.

 

* * *

 

 

A chill wind blew through the training yard, portending the coming of winter, and clouds gather overhead, dark gray and heavy with rain.

Cullen shivered and swayed on his feet. The migraine that had started in the War Room this morning was in full bloom, making his vision swim and the world tilt crazily.  Nausea squeezed his stomach and bile rose in his throat, but he choked it down and stood straighter, holding the pommel of his sword in a white-knuckled grip.

Mages. Lysarah brought in the Mages — as full allies. She had just sauntered into the War Room this morning and had announced it. He had thought he was going to throw up. The Veil was so thin here, he was certain there would be abominations among the mages, and with so few Templars present, even one abomination would be difficult to deal with, let alone five, or ten, or twenty.

Despite this very real concern, he knew he had overstepped. He hadn’t been kind. He’d yelled at the Herald. And that was what made him sickest most of all. How could he claim to be a new man, a better man than he was in Kirkwall if he still had this visceral reaction to Mages and magic? And the look on Lysarah’s face — it was cold, so unlike the warm woman who had laughed and joked with him, with whom he’d traded a few kisses and hoped to get closer to still.

“Commander, mayhap we should stop for the night?” Rylen’s voice came to him as if through a long tunnel, his Starkhaven burr sounding hollow. Cullen turned his head too quickly and stumbled into him. The other man reached out to steady him. “Are you all right, Ser? Should I send for someone?”

He regained his feet with some difficulty, brushing off Rylen’s assisting hands. “I’m fine,” he growled through clenched teeth, willing himself not to vomit all over his Second’s boots. “Yes, please dismiss the men —I —I shall be in my tent should you need anything.”

He turned to leave, but a hand on his upper arm stopped him.

“Cullen, mate, are you sure you’re all right?” Rylen’s concerned aqua eyes ran over him, seeing far too much, damn him.  “You look like death warmed over.”

“I feel it,” he admitted, attempting a grin but failing. “I need to lie down. See you in the morning.”

Rylen squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll make sure these lot put away their equipment. Get some rest, Commander.”

He gave as much of a nod as his throbbing head would allow and turned toward his tent.

  

* * *

 

 

She must have been an angel sent from heaven. She had to be. because she descended into his tent like a rejuvenating mist on a hot summer afternoon. Maker, everything about her was soothing to his aching senses.

Eala had the bucket at the ready for him to be sick into, and afterward, she carefully bathed his face and chest with a cool, wet cloth. Her voice was dulcet soft, carefully pitched to avoid making his headache worse. Even her movements were slow and relaxing to him.

When she laid his head in her lap and started massaging him, first his forehead, temples, and scalp, then moving down to his neck and shoulders and back again, he thought this was surely what being seated at the Maker’s side must feel like.

He tried to thank her, tried to tell her how grateful he was for her care, but she gently shushed him, again in that whisper-soft voice, and as his pain started to fade, he drifted off to sleep.

His last thoughts were of soft hands, long skeins of curling black hair, and kind dark eyes.

“Commander.” The sound of her soft voice pulled him from sleep, but his mind was still sluggish from the migraine-haze that followed an attack.

“Hmm?” he tried to open his eyes, but his lids were so heavy, and she was so warm in the bed beside him. He just wanted to stay where he was, snuggled up against her. He was vaguely aware of the rainstorm battering the tent.

“Commander, you need to wake up.”

“Just a moment longer,” he murmured, brushing his lips against the nape of her neck. Maker, she smelled so good, like warmth and home. He tucked her closer into him, settling his thigh more comfortably between hers. Soft, she was so soft. He didn’t want to let her go.

 “C-Commander,” her voice once again pulled him back from oblivion.

“Hmm?”

“What are we doing?”

“Resting in bed together,” he mumbled, working to make his mouth and throat form comprehensible words. “And I quite think you can call me by my given name, now, Eala.”

“I-I have to go — I can’t be seen leaving your tent in the morning. People will talk.”

He sighed. Maker, he was so bloody tired. “It’s early yet. Let’s rest a little longer,” he yawned and stretched languidly, “Then I promise I shall let you get up. Just — please stay.”

He didn’t consider why he was not letting her get up. Why he wanted her to stay. It wasn’t something his brain was up to processing right now, and it wasn’t important, anyway. Not when he had her here with him in his bed, and she felt so good in his arms.

Eala sighed and she settled against him. “All right. But only a little longer,” he heard her say before he plunged back into slumber.

“Sweet Maker!”

Her cry and the sudden lack of comforting warmth against his body brought him rudely out of his deep sleep. For several seconds, his sluggish brain couldn’t comprehend what was happening. Then it came back to him. The migraine yesterday and the Herald bringing in the mages as allies. Then Eala coming to him and soothing his pain. And then, somehow she had ended up in his arms, and Maker, her soft, warm body had felt like heaven.

With a still-muzzy head, Cullen sat up and levered his legs over the side of his cot, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He squinted at Eala who stood in front of him frowning. She didn’t seem happy.

“I-um, I have to go,” she said, and quickly turned to leave. Maker’s breath, had he done something last night that he should not have?

“Eala, wait.”  She turned back to him and looked at him, questions in her dark eyes. Maybe he hadn’t royally fucked up?  He scrubbed a hand over his face and dropped his head into one palm, his elbow propped up on a knee.  “Thank you again — for last night.”

“I am your healer, Commander. I but did my duty.”

Hurt twisted in his gut. Was that all he is to her — a duty? His brow furrowed as he looked up at her. “We are friends, are we not, Eala?”

“Dear Ser, I am your friend,” she smiled at him, and it was a genuine smile that made her eyes sparkle. Maker, but she was so pretty. Why had he not noticed that before now? “But now,” her gaze swiveled to the brightening dawn outside his tent flap. “Now I have to go. I shall return for your treatment momentarily.”

Cullen’s heart sank as he realized that he still didn’t want her to go. The overhang of his migraine remained, and his head felt heavy and slow. A dull ache remained at the base of his skull, and his neck muscles were so tight that turning his head was a challenge.  Though he wanted to ask her to stay, instead he said “Very well. I shall see you shortly, then.”

She smiled at him and then disappeared into the early morning gloom.

 


	4. Barely Breathing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! This fic is not dead, I swear! 
> 
> I hope to get into somewhat of regular a schedule of fic updates, life permitting.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for all your support and I hope you enjoy this update!

The ceaseless wind howled around the long caravan of horses, people, and drays loaded with the remains of their lives. Cullen wove his mount through the lines, making sure that everyone stayed together, from the tiny portion of his army that remained to the shocked villagers and their families who plodded along, some on horseback and others on foot.

Maker. Another disaster laid at his feet. He truly must be cursed.

Casting a glance at the steel-gray sky, he frowned. They had carts of injured and so many children, many now orphaned. His fists clenched at his side — he could only pray that they will survive the journey. And where could they go? Lysarah had told him that Solas knew of a keep somewhere in these mountains, but they had been on the move for days now and all that he could see ahead were miles of forest and snow-covered peaks.

Damn it all to the Void, he should have been more prepared. He should have fortified the walls, he should have built guard towers, Maker, the list of the things he should have done was miles long at this point. He’d been responsible for these people’s safety and he’d failed. He’d _failed_.

“Commander?” he looked over to see Eala’s horse trotting beside him.  Her plump, dusky cheeks were rosy from the cold and plumes of white vapor streamed from her nose and mouth as she exhaled.

“What is it? How fare the injured? “

“As well as could be expected, given our situation. But I did not come to discuss the injured,” she told him, her dark eyes running over his body up and down, pausing to search his eyes.

“Oh?” he looked away, unable to bear the warmth of her regard. “Did you need something?”

She blinked her eyes and blushed. “Only — only to know how you fare, Commander. You have not had a treatment since before —“

“I am fine, Eala. Please do not worry about me. There are others here who need your aid more than I.”

“But —“

He shook his head, ignoring the way it throbbed with the movement. “As I said, I am fine.”

She looked like she wanted to argue further but decided against it. “Very well Commander,” she ducked her head and turned her mount back toward the drays holding the injured.

He closed his eyes for a second, willing his body to find the strength to continue. Cursing himself for a stubborn fool, he wondered for the thousandth time if he should just give in and take it. If there was ever a time when he needed to be at full strength, surely now was it?A few moments later, Rylen's mount fell in beside his.

“Commander, snow storm’s moving this way. That elf, Solas, says there was a small meadow ahead. Might be wise to camp there — at least till it passes,” he said.

He nodded and looked up at the darkening sky. “You may be right. How much farther till we reach this meadow?”

“Mayhaps another hour’s march.”

“Good. Send some scouts ahead of us to reconnoiter the area.”

The other man hesitated. “Commander — Cullen, how’re you holding up, mate? You’re looking a mite ragged.”

Cullen sighed, rolling his eyes. Would no one take his word that he was fine? At least better than many of his charges, the poor sods. “I — I am right enough,” he managed.

Rylen looked skeptical. “Still, mate, you ought to look after yourself,” he pointed in the direction Eala had gone,” Wasn’t that the little healer you had attending you back at Haven?”

His brow furrowed, and he tossed Rylen a hard look. “Yes, and she has other matters to attend.“

“Excuse me, Sers, may I speak with the Commander?” Herald Lysarah’s lightly accented voice floated up to his ears from behind him. He turned to watch her rein her horse in and fall into pace with him and Rylen.

Cullen inhaled sharply, noting how the wind brought color to her pale cheeks and how her icy eyes sparkled in the ambient light reflecting off the snow. His heart raced and his mouth filled with cotton.

Maker’s breath, what she did to him.

Rylen lifted a knowing brow and saluted his Commander, drawing an annoyed glance from him.  “At your order, Ser,” he said before turning his mount’s head and riding up the line, his voice barking orders.

Lysarah’s cool, pale eyes roamed over his face and body. “Are you well, Commander?”

He fought back a groan, irritation prickling him anew. “I am fine, my lady. How fare you?”

She shifted in the saddle, tossing back her wild white-blond locks.  “I am well. Solas and the other healers did a marvelous job.”

He frowned at the mention of that apostate. He didn’t like the way she said the other elf’s name — there was deference there, and perhaps a note of affection?

“I am  _glad_ to hear it,” he growled, his jaw clenching. “Was there something you needed?”

Her face relaxed into a smile. “Only to tell you that Solas is certain that we are about halfway to the fortress he told me about.”

Cullen nodded stiffly. “Yes, thank you. That is good to know.”

She peered at him curiously. “Are you upset with me, Commander?” her lips were quirked in a coy smile. A part of him wondered if she was manipulating him; she certainly knew how to play him like a fiddle.

He tried — he tried to school his features into a neutral expression, but the headache throbbing in his skull and the way his hips and spine grinded as he shifted in the saddle would not allow it.

“No. I — uh — I have much to consider. If you will excuse me, I need to make arrangements for camp this evening.”

He spurred his horse and rode up the line of soldiers and refugees, refusing to think too hard about the Herald and bald apostate.

 

* * *

 

Cullen had to admit that the apostate elf’s discovery of this meadow was a Maker-sent blessing. He looked around the encampment as he walked the perimeter; it was a large enough space to accommodate the reduced Inquisition forces and the survivors from Haven. Also, since it was surrounded on three sides by the bulk of the mountains, they were sheltered from the worst of the winter winds.

He nodded at Eala who was attending to the wounded outside the tent that she and the other healers had set up for that purpose. Her dark eyes held his just a measure too long before she looked away. Maker, how he wanted to ask her to come to his tent tonight and rub his back with the oakmoss and elderflower cream. But no. There were countless injured and ill who needed her care. He had done without before; he could do so again.

After he finished his circuit around the camp, he found his way to the campfire where the Herald, Varric, Cassandra, and Dorian sat, sharing a pot of stew. The scent of roasted meat made his stomach growl, and he realized just how hungry he was. He'd had nothing more than a biscuit and some cheese during their midday rest stop.

He nodded his greetings to the others as he settled himself beside the Herald. He smiled at her, and his heart squeezed when she returned it. He had to contain his wholly inappropriate urge to lift her slight frame into his lap and kiss her. Maker’s breath, he needed to get control of himself. He had an army to run, such as it was, and people were counting on him to see them safely to their new home. But _some_ people were making it damned difficult.

“Commander,” she purred, “I am glad you are here. I have something I wanted to ask you.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah — yes, of course, Herald. You can ask me anything you wish.”

Varric raised an eyebrow and gave him a knowing smile, earning a glare from Cullen. Varric merely chuckled but wisely held his tongue, turning back to his conversation with Dorian and Cassandra.

Lysarah laughed, warming him despite the cold. “Solas tells me we are still miles from this fortress,” she began, looking away as she mentioned the other elf’s name. “He also says that winter in the mountains is quite harsh. He mentioned a way that he could teach our mages to cast protective barriers around this little meadow —“

“What a _splendid_ idea, dear Herald!  I could teach our mages a few things to make us more comfortable as well,” Dorian put in, his fingers twirling the tip of his ridiculous mustache. When the two looked at him in surprise, he shrugged. “Sorry, I could not help but overhear.“

“No, it’s fine,” Lysarah said, waving off his apology and sitting forward, “you would do that? Share Tevinter magic?”

Dorian sighed theatrically. “Darling, if I am to be stuck in these abominable mountains during the winter, I will gladly share any knowledge I can if it makes my life more comfortable. That it also benefits your Inquisition is purely incidental.”

Magic.

Cullen scowled, and it was on the tip of his tongue to forbid any such magical experimentation, but he exhaled instead and nodded. “If you believe it is safe, then anything that will help us survive the winter is welcome.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing. He shot her a silent glower. Was it really so shocking that he could be practical when it came to magic? He lifted a hand to rub his forehead. Maker, his head was killing him.

“Good to know we have your approval, Commander,” drawled Lysarah, setting down her finished bowl of stew, and Cullen winced at the note of derision in her voice. She turned away from him and leaned closer to the other Mage. “Now, Dorian, tell me more about this magic.”

And that was his cue to leave. As much as he wanted to believe he had changed significantly since Kirkwall, talk of magic still made him uncomfortable. Besides, he wanted to go over the maps of the area the scouts had drawn up and check on the lists of supplies.

He rose to his feet. “Excuse me, ladies, Dorian, Varric. I shall be in my tent if anyone needs me.” Lysarah cast a dismissive glance toward him and returned to her conversation with Dorian. He stole one last look at her before walking away, wondering why a chill wrapped his heart as cold as her icy eyes.

 

* * *

 

Cullen frowned at the map spread across his makeshift desk, squinting at it in the low light of the single candle he had allowed himself.  The lines blurred and wavered in his vision as the thrum in his head intensified. Finally, he gave up, falling into his chair with a groan.

Maker, he was useless. It was clear the Herald thought so, too, so why did he persist in this madness? He glanced at his trunk. Nestled inside was the answer to all his problems.  His fingers ran up his forearm, tracing over old injection scars. All he had to do was get up, take out his lyrium kit, and shoot up. There would be no more exhaustion, no painful joints, no bone-deep aches, or screaming migraines. His mouth watered and he found himself on his feet, propelled toward his battered trunk. Like a man in a thrall, he opened the lid. His hands fisted at his sides. The kit was there, and the blue liquid inside sang to him of relief, power, and control.

_No. You’ve come this far, man. Do not give up now!_

Sighing, he pulled out the jar of oakmoss and elderflower cream instead. Straightening, he rolled his stiff neck and grunted as the muscles fought him. The pull of exhaustion was like a tide drawing him down and down into the depths. There were times when he felt  he would drown in it.

Tossing the jar on his bedroll, he quickly stripped off his shirt. He might not have Eala here to rub it in for him, but he could at least apply it to the back of his neck and his shoulders. Maybe that would take the edge off this bloody headache and allow him some rest.

Opening the jar, he scooped some of the white cream out with his fingers. He breathed in its scent and huffed out a breath. He hoped this works — he needed some sleep. Shutting his eyes, he dropped his head forward and started rubbing it into the skin at the back of his neck. It didn’t feel nearly as nice as when Eala’s skilled fingers worked his muscles, but the coolness of the cream and its scent seemed to be loosening the tight cords and tendons fractionally. He was working some of the cream into his right shoulder when someone called from just outside the flaps of his tent.

“Commander?”

Cullen groaned, rolling his shoulder experimentally under his fingers. “Enter!”  he called out absentmindedly. He had almost gotten it to give a little, Maker, if it would just —

“I could do that for you if you’d let me,” offered a dulcet voice, pitched low to avoid aggravating the pain in his head. How did she always know?

“Eala!” his head snapped up sharply, and he winced as pain crawled up his neck and bloomed behind his eyes. He squinted at her standing just inside the tent, her hands clasped in front of her. Her soft brown eyes traveled over him, coming to rest on his shoulder. “W-what are you doing here?”

She smiled, just a little nervous pull of her full lips, and dropped gracefully to sit beside him on the bedroll.  Pushing back the long curling skeins of her hair behind her ears, she reached for the jar. “I came to see if I could be of service to you, Ser. You — you look exhausted. Might I not help you now?”

Cullen sighed. He wanted to accept her offer; her touch would feel so good right now, just what he needed. But how could he take up her valuable time when so many needed her care more?

“I cannot,” he said, a sharp ache twisting his heart as her expression fell. “I am sure you have other duties to attend.”

Eala smiled sadly, plucking the jar from his hand and setting it aside. He frowned at her, but said nothing, allowing her to push him back until he was lying down.

“If you cannot accept my help at the moment, that is fine. But, dear Ser, at least let me sit with you until you fall asleep.”

“Wha?” he was about to protest that he didn’t need anyone to babysit him, but then, she shifted and lifted his head into her lap.

“Sshh, Commander, sleep now,” she murmured, her fingers carding through his hair in a gesture that reminds him of how his mother used to soothe him when he was ill as a child.

His eyes drifted closed, and at that moment, nothing else existed but the warmth of her lap and the succor of her touch.

 


	5. I Can Taste Your Perfume

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abigail Henderson, who makes a cameo in this chapter, belongs to the magnificent [laraslandlockedblues ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LarasLandlockedBlues/pseuds/LarasLandlockedBlues). Thank you for letting me use her, Lara! 
> 
> In case y'all don't know, there is a new rule in my universe: where there is a Rylen, there is also an Abby. That's just the way it is.
> 
> 7/6/2018: Edited to add the battlements scene where Cullen asks Eala to start treating him again. I heard that y'all wanted to know what he was thinking when he was hugging on her. Well, now you know! ;)

Cullen looked around his new office. There were still a few cobwebs to clean out, but he had his desk set up and his bookcase with his books on military history and tactics lined up on its shelves.  He glanced up at the raftered ceiling, above which lay his bedroom. His bed had yet to arrive, but he had thrown his bedroll up there, and that was plenty enough for him. He never had commodious sleeping arrangements, not even when he served as Knight-Captain, and later Knight-Commander in Kirkwall, so he didn’t mind sleeping on the floor until the carpenters were able to build a bed for him.

A knock sounded on the door opening onto the bridge connecting his tower to the rotunda. ”Enter,” he called, walking around his desk to sit down behind it. Lysarah strolled in, her long white-blond hair pulled into a neat braid draped over one slim shoulder. Her icy eyes roamed his face, and unconsciously, he ran a hand over his hair to make sure it remained smoothed in place. His jaw tightened as he realized that she had done it again; somehow made him feel lacking. His stomach knotted in trepidation. What would she think of him after he told her what he had to say?

“Commander, you had something you wished to speak with me about?” she stood in front of his desk, coldly beautiful and perfect, examining her nails. Did she ever even have one strand of hair out place? It was bloody intimidating at times. “Come now, I haven’t all day. Speak up.”

Cullen leaned on his desk, staring down at his lyrium kit. “As leader of the Inquisition, you,” he sighs, “there is something I must tell you.”

Lysarah arched one immaculate eyebrow. “Do go on, Commander.”

He straightened, resting his shaking hands on the pommel of his sword. “Lyrium grants Templars our abilities, but it controls us as well. Those cut off suffer. Some go mad, others die. We’ve secured a reliable source of lyrium for the Templars here, but I — no longer take it.”

Her sharp eyes narrowed. “You what?”

Cullen drew in a breath and locked her gaze with his. “After what happened in Kirkwall I couldn’t. I will not be bound to the Order or that life any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it, but I would not put the Inquisition at risk. I’ve asked Cassandra to watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty.”

“I am glad to hear that at least someone is on top of this — so your illness — the reason you need this healer to — to coddle you is because of the lyrium?”

Irritation vied with embarrassment in his gut. “I — no one is coddling me, Inquisitor, but yes, lyrium withdrawal is the cause of my — illness.”

She fade-stepped forward and leaned her hands on his desk as she looked right through him with eyes colder than the winds blowing off the Frozen Seas. Had she ever looked at him with warmth? He couldn’t see an ounce of compassion or even regard for him in those pools of wintry blue. He tightened his jaw and lifted his chin, ignoring the hurt constricting his throat.

“I’ll allow this nonsense, for now, Commander, as you and Cassandra seem to have this well in hand. But,” she pointed one taloned finger at his face. “if I hear that your — illness — is compromising my army, you’re going back on lyrium. Understood?”

Cullen blinked and swallowed back his humiliation. “Yes, Inquisitor.”

 

* * *

 

“Did you talk to her about it?” Rylen asked him the next day as they stood side by side observing the recruits performing their training exercises.

Cullen nodded. ”I did.” He glanced at the roster in his hand and made a mark. “Wilkes needs more shield practice. Start him on daily drills tomorrow.”

“Aye, Commander.”  Rylen made a notation on his own parchment before glancing back up at him.  “And what did she say? Was she amenable?”

His cheeks flexed. “She did not order me to resume taking it, but —" Cullen sighed “ — she was not supportive either. I — I thought perhaps I meant something more to her, but now —"

Rylen waved a hand dismissively. “Eh, if you ask me, that one is an ice queen, and you’re better off forgetting about her,” he nudged his friend, “Anyway, I think your healer’s got more caring in her little finger than Inquisitor Lavellan does in her whole body.”

Cullen smirked, picturing Eala’s warm brown eyes and smile. “Speaking of — can you take over here —“ he frowned when the other man didn’t immediately respond. “Rylen? Ah, I see how it is” He chuckled when he noticed the reason for his Captain’s inattention.  

Rylen’s eyes were glued to the fetching dark-haired girl sweeping a broom outside the tavern.  He clapped a hand on his Second’s shoulder and shook with mirth at the way the other man startled.

“W-what’s that you say, Commander?” Rylen ’s aqua eyes were sheepish as he tried to school his expression out of the mooncalf stare he’d been giving the tavern maid.

“Now that I have your attention, Captain —“ he gave Rylen a mock stern look, enjoying the man’s embarrassment. It was rare that Cullen could make him blush, so when it happened, he relished it.

“Eh, come on now, it was only for a moment, mate,” his Second chided. “Can’t a man look at a pretty lass without his Commander making him feel the fool?”

Cullen scoffed. “It takes one to know one! And do not change the subject! Who is the girl? I do not believe I have seen her around before.”

“I believe her name is Abigail. She’s recently come from Kirkwall to help out the Inquisition.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “By working at the tavern?”

Rylen shook his head. “No. She’s working with the mages. She just likes helping out at the tavern.”

Both Cullen’s eyebrows shot up. “She is a mage, then? I do not remember her from the Circle at Kirkwall — granted she would have been very young —“

Rylen’s blush deepened, and he averted his gaze from Cullen’s “She’s — um — she’s an apostate.”

He smacked Rylen on the back, snorting. “What? Did you expect me to be shocked? Every mage is now an apostate. So…Abigail, eh? “

Rylen grinned, his eyes shining with interest. “Oh, mate, she’s magnificent! — so feisty!”

Cullen laughed. “Well, do you think you can take your eyes off your Abigail long enough to watch this lot on your own while I take care of some business?”

“Going to speak with your healer?”

Now it was Cullen’s turn to blush. “I —yes,” he rubbed the back of his neck and rolled his shoulders, “Only to schedule some treatments!”

Rylen winked and gave his Commander a slap on the back. “Sure, sure. See you later, mate.”

  

* * *

 

Cullen made his way to the new clinic where he knew Eala will be working, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He didn’t examine the reason for the fluttering in his stomach when he peered inside the large front area and spotted her sitting at a desk, her dark head bowed over her work.

“May I see you for a moment?” he called out, stepping just inside the clinic’s door.

A smile blossomed on her face when she looked up and saw him. Her sparkling dark eyes and welcoming grin quickened his heartbeat. She wore a simple dress, but even its modest cut could not hide her sensual curves. He remembered how she had felt in his arms that night she had spent in his bed. His fingers ached to touch her.

“Of course, Commander.” Gracefully, she rose to her feet and glided toward him, smoothing down her hair. It was an endearing gesture; it did something to his insides. “Did you want to sit,” she said indicating the chairs arranged in one corner near a large bookcase filled with books. Longing filled him. By the Maker, he had been such a fool.

He raised his hand to rub the back of his neck. “Um, no, that’s all right,” he looked at her hopefully. “Will you walk with me?”

Joy flooded him when she nodded and took the arm he offered her. He led her through the door, acutely aware of the pressure of her small hand on his sleeve and the warmth of her small body as she walked beside him, taking two steps to his every one.  He nodded at passing acquaintances as he and Eala strolled toward the stairs leading to the ramparts. He had a place in mind where they could speak undisturbed, but he was in no hurry to get there. Just her presence beside him was enough to make his day brighter, to turn the sky a deeper blue and bring out the scent of spring flowers in the air.

A few feet into their walk along the breezy castle walls, Cullen grinned when he spied the secluded corner he’d been leading them to. He quickly ducked around the corner, pulling her with him. Eala squeaked as he gripped her waist, lifting her easily onto the low wall.

He smirked, tucking himself between her legs; the height of the wall put her just beneath eye level. Perfect! His arms encircled her, and he crushed her to him in a tight embrace. Inhaling her scent, he breathed “I’ve missed you,” and buried his face in the join of her neck and shoulder.

“I-I’ve missed you, too,” she said and seemed to hesitate before putting her hands on his shoulders. “C-can you tell me what all this is about?”

He hummed softly and was silent for a few moments. He just wanted to bask in her nearness; for all the long winter, he’d hardly seen her, and now that he had a chance to have her back — he drew away to regard her with warm golden eyes.

“You have no idea how hard it has been for me without your treatments these last months, but,” he sighs wearily, “Maker, you know what it has been like…since Haven…I have barely had a moment to think, let alone take time for anything personal.”

 “It was hairy for a while there,” she agreed, “I tried to tend to you, but as I recall, you told me that others needed my help more than you did.”

The underlying sass in her tone made him laugh. “So I did. Well, I think everything is under control now that we have settled at Skyhold. Will you avail me of your healing services once again, Mistress Eala?” He lifted one hopeful eyebrow and smirked. He stopped breathing as she cocked her head, her dark skin shining in the sunlight, frowning softly as she examined his face. Maker, if all he could have with her was her daily company and her touch, he would consider himself lucky.  

Then she reached up to touch the area under his left eye and smiled, her eyes lighting up. “I can see that I have my work cut out for me, then,” she said, a small smile turning up the corners of her lips.

He pressed a kiss into her palm, relief easing the knots in his stomach. “Indeed you do. Listen, can we start tonight? Come to my office at 19 bells, and we can have supper together. I-I have something I must tell you.”

“That sounds ominous, but of course, I’ll come.” Eala’s forehead creased, her expression concerned.

He closed his eyes and exhaled a long sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he said simply, unable to think of anything more eloquent to say. He continued to hold her, basking in her relaxing aura.

“Um, I have to return to the clinic. Will you help me down?” she asked after a beat.

“Oh — I — yes, of course! Forgive me!” He stepped back and lifted her down, impulsively giving her waist a gentle squeeze. “See you later?”

She looked at him with questions in her eyes but nodded before running off. As he watched her go, his mind started going over the things he’ll need for tonight. Smiling in a way he hadn’t since Haven, he whistled as he took the stairs two at a time, heading for Madame Simms' shop in the lower courtyard.

  

* * *

 

Maker’s breath.

Cullen eased himself down into his chair with a heavy sigh as the last of his Captains filed out of his office.  He’d been fighting a headache all bloody day, and he just ached. Everywhere. He couldn’t wait until he saw Eala; he badly needed her hands. He rolled his neck and rubbed it, then tried to stretch his back and his hips. The Inquisitor had called him to a War Meeting early this morning, which had meant that he hadn’t had time for his usual morning treatment.

Right.

He shifted in his seat, re-rolling the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. He wouldn’t put it past her to purposely arrange the meeting to deny him care. She’d made it clear that she thought less of him for needing it. Cullen frowned at his desk. It wasn’t as if he was proud of it. A Commander and a former Templar should be stronger. He knew that. He hadn’t wanted to engage Eala’s services in the first place, but Lysarah didn’t know that, and even if she did, he doubted it would change her views about him. The fact remained that she was correct. He grimaced and scoffed derisively. He was weak — a shadow of his former self, and it became harder every day to deny his cravings for the blue.

It had been drilled into him from the earliest days of training. You worked and worked, and you didn’t complain. It didn’t matter how your muscles ached. How exhausted you were. You kept going, and you did not show it. How many days had he stood guard, sweltering in full plate armor under the hot Kirkwall sun?  How many forced marches had he been on?

_Sword wound? Mage fire burn? Keep moving soldier, and do not even think about hesitating._

And now? Although he tried to keep his infirmities to himself, he couldn’t always hide his shaking hands. And when the migraines were bad, he had to disappear into his darkened loft to lie down until the worst passed. Was it so wrong that he got care so that he could function better? Function at all some days? Cullen winced as the muscles in his back complained at the hard surface of his chair. He couldn’t help but contrast Lysarah’s response with how Eala had reacted to his news about stopping the lyrium. She had been concerned, but ultimately had supported his decision and promised to help him.

_“I respect what you are trying to do. I will treat you as long as you have need of it.”_

A knock on the door brought him out of his thoughts. Cullen’s heartbeat picked up as he anticipated seeing Eala, and Maker, feeling her hands rubbing the aches out of his muscles. More than that, her smile and warm dark eyes would bring him light after his monumentally dreary day.

“Enter!” he called as he got up and came around to perch himself at the edge of his desk, a crooked grin already creasing his features. The door swung open and his expression fell when the Inquisitor walked in. Shit. What did Lysarah want of him now? Maker, please — not another meeting!

“Hello, Commander.” Graceful and elegant, the tall elf sauntered forward, coming to a stop in front of him, her large ice-blue eyes roaming his body hungrily.

“Inquisitor,” he kept his tone businesslike. Any warm feelings he’d had for her had long since disappeared.  “What can I do for you?”

Lysarah’s pale eyebrows rose, her perfect lips forming a moue of shock. “Cullen,” she cooed, coming closer and reaching out to scrape one long nail against his stubbled cheek. “Why so formal? I realize I’ve been remiss in spending time with my favorite Commander. I am sorry. Will you forgive me?”

Her scent swirled around him, muddying his mind. He narrowed his eyes at her trying to focus.

“I –I’m your only Commander, Lysarah,” he tried to keep his voice cool and matter-of-fact, but he was drawn in by her eyes, so light blue they were almost white, the pinpricks of her pupils spearing him where he sat. They overturned every rock and search through every crevice of his mind.

“My one and only Commander,” she agreed, gracefully settling herself in his lap, her hands cupping his cheeks.

His eyes zeroed in on her plump red lips, so inviting. Just one kiss. Would one kiss be so bad? Her perfume blunted the edge of his raging headache, and his heavy eyelids slid shut as his lips parted. Just one little kiss. His hands came up to fist in her hair as he crushed her mouth with his, sucking down her taste. Maker, it was even more intoxicating than her scent.  

He was vaguely aware of the door opening, and a prickle of irritation rose in him. Damn it, could they not leave him be for even one sodding minute?  Lysarah shifted against him, grinding down on his erection, one of her hands slipping inside his shirt to caress his chest and side while the other ran through his hair. He grinned against her mouth. Let them wait. His hand found the hem of her blouse and slid under it. Ah, her skin — so soft.

He groaned into her mouth as her nails flicked one of his nipples while the hand in his hair urged him closer. Cullen deepened the kiss, obliging her, but it wasn’t enough — she wasn’t close enough. He wanted to bury himself inside her, wanted to drink her down and lose himself in her.

Ultimately, he wasn’t sure if it was the sound of a Eala’s shocked gasp, or if it was Lysarah’s abrupt pulling away that lifted the sensual fog clouding his mind and body.  But when he opened his eyes and stumbled to his feet, dizzy and disoriented, there she was, standing just inside the doorway, her cheeks flushed and — were those tears in her dark eyes?

He looked down at the floor, his own cheeks hot with shame. He wanted to say something — to apologize — but he couldn’t find his words. Lysarah was still beside him, and he felt her toss a thin arm around his shoulder.

“Vhenan, it looks like it’s time for your treatment,” she squeezed his aching shoulders, drawing a wince from him, then released him and stepped away  “I’d best let you get to it. We wouldn’t want our Commander to have to take to his bed tomorrow because of his  _illness_.”

He cringed at her condescending tone, annoyance furrowing his brow. Why had he even been kissing her?  “Yes, well — I’ll see you tomorrow, then Lysarah,” he said gruffly, finally finding his voice.

Lysarah turned to smirk knowingly at him as she passed Eala on her way to the door to the bridge leading to the rotunda. “Good night Cullen,” she said to him before snapping her fingers, her long nails clicking in the silence of his tower office. “Take care of him,” she directed to Eala and disappeared through the door.

Moments passed, but Cullen still couldn’t look at her. Not after the spectacle she just witnessed. What in the Void had come over him? He grimaced and wished a rift would open up and consume him.

Eala’s annoyed voice finally snapped him out of his daze. “Well, Commander, shall we proceed?”

“I —uh — I must have lost track of time. Forgive me,” he managed feebly, rubbing the back of his neck “but, yes, I suppose we should begin. “

What else could he say?

 


	6. Art Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am working on the next chapter for this fic, but in the meantime, enjoy some art of Cullen and Eala.
> 
> Also, be sure to check out Chapters 3 and 5, as I have updated them with additional content. Based on some of your comments, I added some scenes from the original fic that you were curious about.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who is still reading and to new readers as well. I couldn't keep doing this without your feedback.

Art by the incredible [Starsandskies](http://starsandskies.tumblr.com/)

 

 

 

Art by the amazing [Machatnoir (Elena)](http://machatnoir.tumblr.com/)


	7. Because My Inside Is Outside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me this long to update. Real life is way too real right now. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has kudosed and/or left a comment on this fic. I appreciate all of it so very much!
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Carefully, he climbed the ladder up to his loft, wincing. He could still feel where the Inquisitor gripped his shoulder; there was sure to be a bruise there come morning. Once in his loft, he started working the buttons of his shirt, a tiny coil of anger burning in the pit of his stomach. The look on Eala’s face when she had come upon him and Lysarah — Maker, if he lost his chance with Eala because of her, he didn’t know what he would do.

Eala stood facing away from him, as she always did when he undressed, but tonight her posture was stiff, and he could detect the faintest trembling in her shoulders as if she struggled to hold back tears. His chest tightened, and his head throbbed. The idea that he had hurt her made him feel ill.

“You are quiet tonight,” he said as he finished stripping off his clothes and tossed them into his laundry pile in the corner. He sighed and crossed to the bed, rubbing the back of his neck.  “I-I hope we did not offend you with that scene down there. I-if we did, I do apologize for it — time did, ah, get away from me.”

“It’s fine, Commander. You don’t need to apologize to me.  Are you in bed yet?” There was an edge to her voice; it ripped into the marrow of him like a flenser’s blade.

He pulled a face and climbed into bed. He couldn’t blame her, but even still, he wanted to beg her to give him another chance. But Cullen had never been good with words. Always getting them wrong, getting them stuck in his throat. So, all he could do was grunt “all right,” as he made sure his naked lower half was properly concealed under the blankets.

Cullen sighed and closed his eyes as he listened to her get the oakmoss and elderflower cream. It was useless. He needed to stop thinking it was even possible. Even if she wanted him, he couldn’t let her saddle herself with a broken-down ex-Templar lyrium addict. A good man wouldn’t do that. And then, she set her hands on him, and he remembered that Cullen Rutherford was about as far as he could get from being any kind of good man. Maker, but she knew just where he ached, where to press to release the knots that made his shoulders hitch and his back stiffen like a man of double his years. He exhaled a long breath and wriggled his shoulders, luxuriating in her touch, and the words just slipped out.

 “I —ah — wanted to ask you something.”

“What did you want to ask?” she sounded cautious. In a way that she never usually was around him, and that hurt him, like an actual physical pain somewhere in his chest. But just then, she hit a particularly sensitive spot that made his eyes roll back in his head, and all he could think of was her touch.

“Well,“ he began when he could utter sounds that weren’t incoherent moans, “you know that I am taking the bulk of the army into the Western Approach at the end of the month. I would like you to accompany me — as a personal attendant. I hate to tie up your services, but you know my back and hips have been especially troublesome of late.” Then she dug into the join of his back and hips, and it was another moment before he could say aught that made sense. “By the Maker, that is good. I’m afraid that the ride there will kill me if I do not have your hands to keep me going.”

He lifted his head and turned to look over his shoulder at her. She hesitated, biting her lower lip. His chest tightened and his breathing stalled as he awaited her answer.

 “I would be happy to, Commander,” she said quietly.

Unable to restrain himself, he turned over in bed and took her hands in his. He raised them to his lips and kissed the knuckles of each one, tucking them against his chest. “Thank you, Eala. You are Maker sent to care for me as you do.”  Smiling broadly, he pulled her into a tight embrace. Andraste preserve him, he couldn’t help it, he had to — he positioned his mouth near her ear and kissed the side of her face over and over. “But,” he growled into her ear, “you must stop using my title, especially when we are alone. Can you do that for me?”

She wriggled in his arms but did not pull away. Instead, she sighed into his chest, her body soft and warm against his. “All right, Cullen,” she answered, and he tightened his arms around her, reveling in the scent of her hair.

He pushed her back far enough that he could reach down and tip her chin up so he could see her face. Her eyes were huge in her face, her lips so tempting, rosy and full. He raised his head to gently kiss her forehead, her nose, and her lips. “That’s my girl,” he praised her as he lay his head back on his pillows with a sigh, tucking her in against him once again.

It was enough for now. They will have weeks together on the journey and in the Western Approach to work things out between them.  Shutting his eyes, he fell asleep, Eala snuggled against his side.

 

* * *

 

Cullen had never enjoyed moving a force from one place to another. There were always so many things that could go wrong. Already, he’d dealt with horses coming up lame, breaking up squabbles between the mages and the soldiers over who got to ride in the wagons and who got to walk, and an assortment of other problems. And they’d only been traveling for a week.

He resisted the urge to rub his neck, straightening his back instead and trotting his horse up the phalanx of men, wagons, and horses. He caught sight of Eala riding her palfrey with the other healers and flashed her a smile. Her returning grin eased his tension and caused his heart to swell.

“Commander!” a voice called from somewhere behind him. Cullen sighed and went to deal with the latest issue, but this time, he did so with a smirk on his face.

Cullen breathed a sigh of relief as he watched his lieutenants disperse to carry out their orders. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of one forearm and turned toward his tent. A smile crossed his lips as he ambled slowly toward the center of the encampment. She’d be there, waiting for him, ready to give him care.

Maker, he couldn’t believe his luck that she agreed to come, especially after that horrible business in his office.  He still couldn’t figure out what in the Void had come over him that evening. He entered his tent and sighed, his fingers immediately going to work on the clasps and buckles holding his traveling armor in place.

“Maker’s breath, what an exhausting day!” he said, glancing at Eala sitting on her cot across from his. She looked like a breath of fresh air, her black hair neatly plaited into a long braid hanging over one shoulder, and a healthy glow on her cheeks. Setting his armor on its stand, he turned to her, crossing his arms over his chest. “How in Thedas do you always manage to look so cool and composed when the rest of us are red in the face and sweating?”

She shrugged, dropping her eyes to the floor. “I-I don’t know,” she said, indicating a bucket of water near his washstand with the tilt of her pretty head.” I-er-brought you some water to wash with.”

He looked from the water to her, a tingle of exasperation running through him. “Thank you, but you know you do not have to do that,” he laughed derisively, thinking about what Lysarah would say were she here to see this. “I am not yet so decrepit that I cannot fetch my own water. “

The sound of a neighing horse from across the camp broke through his melancholy. His eyes focused on Eala, and he noticed that she had a sketchbook in her lap. Curious, he crossed to her cot and sat down beside her as he unbuttoned his shirt. He peered down at the drawing in her lap, raising an eyebrow.

On the paper was an accurate picture of the mountains as they had appeared during their descent into the foothills. “What is this? Are these the Frostbacks?” he reached out to trace the jagged lines, pride filling his chest. At her nod, his smirk expanded into a grin. He put an arm around her shoulders and lightly squeezed her against him. “Maker, are your talents unending? This is beautiful.” He picked up her notebook to study the drawing more closely. “We left the mountains behind long ago, and yet you remember them in such detail.”

 “Why do you say such things?“ Eala looked uncomfortable. She always did when he paid her any kind of compliment, he had noticed. He filed this information away for later. For now, he captured her chin in his hand and met her beautiful dark eyes.

“Because it is true,” he insisted, “you are a very special woman, Eala, and you deserve to be appreciated. I —“ he sighed “— Maker’s breath, please forgive my ineptitude with words — but — you are special to me also.”

Her eyes got huge, dropping to his mouth and back up to his eyes “You are special to me, too,” she whispered and turned her face up to him as he started to lean forward —

“Commander,” called a voice from just outside the tent.

Cullen dragged a hand over his face in frustration. “Maker’s breath! My day is never done, it seems.” He chuckled ruefully and got unwillingly to his feet. “I’ll see you later?”

Eala shifted away from him, straightening her clothing and patting down her hair. “Of course. You’d best see what that soldier wants,” she said, dropping her gaze to the floor.  

“Hey,” he leaned down and tucked a finger under her chin to tip her face toward his. “You are remarkable. Do not forget that.” Unable to help himself, he kissed her nose before dropping his hand and quitting the tent.

 

* * *

 

Cullen watched Eala head back toward the camp, his eyes appreciatively following the sway of her full hips and the delicious curve of her arse. His cock twitched and he immediately recited one of the equations he had just been using to calibrate the trebuchets to take his mind off his rather, um, lascivious thoughts.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted one of their unwelcome guests watching him. Jocelyn was her name? Makers breath, it didn’t matter. The pair of them had been nothing but a pain in his arse since he’d discovered them hiding in one of the wagons.

He caught her green-eyed stare and scowled at her, hoping to chase her away. She just smirked at him and approached, paying no heed to his forbidding expression. She cocked her hips and played with the ends of her hair and Cullen gritted his teeth. He had no time for this nonsense!

“Commander,” she said, her predatory grin turning coy. “Might I trouble you for a moment?” She batted her lashes and sidled closer to him, thrusting her chest forward to draw attention to the curves of her breasts garishly on display above the low cut of her bodice.

His frown deepened. “What do you need?” he growled, stepping back and crossing his arms over his chest. Any feelings of desire he’d been having were quickly doused as if he’d had a cold bucket of water dumped on him.

“Well,” she drawled, “I was wondering if you would reconsider our assignments. Heather and I are healers, after all, and we…” she placed one hand on his arm.”…could help you. You look so tired and hot. We could help you cool off.”

Cullen sighed and fought the urge to roll his eyes. Of all the —

“Commander!”

Relief filled him when he saw Rylen approaching followed closely by his lieutenants. Turning back to the woman he dismissed her abruptly. “I have all the help I need, Madam. Now, if you will excuse me, I have matters to attend.”

The woman narrowed her eyes at him but evidently decided against arguing with him. She turned, tossing her red hair behind her and flounced away.

“You come at a good hour,” he told Rylen, grabbing his shirt from where he’d left it hanging over the frame of a trebuchet. He glanced at him and shrugged into his shirt, starting to walk toward the center of the encampment. “Come, walk with me to the Command Tent. You can brief me on your news on the way.”

Rylen chuckled and clapped him on the back, falling into step beside him. “Are you sure we’re not interrupting something?”

“Maker, no! That woman and her friend have been nothing but nuisances since I discovered them hiding in one of the wagons.”

Rylen raised a disbelieving brow. “You’re having me on!”

Cullen sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “I only wish that were the case!  They are constantly underfoot, and no matter what duties I give them or where in the bloody camp I put them, they always turn up wherever I am.” He shook his head as they approached the Command Tent.

“Maker, I’ve heard of persistent women before, but these wee lasses sound downright batty!”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous,” scoffed Cullen, “they hid away on a supply wagon ostensibly to be with their lovers, but — “ he dragged a hand down his face “— they seem to hang around me rather more than they do with them.”

Rylen started laughing, his shoulders shaking with the force of his mirth. “Oh, aye, trust our bonny Commander to be annoyed by female attention! Half the men in the Inquisition would love to have your…er…burden!”

Cullen rolled his eyes, shoving Rylen ahead of him into the Command Tent. “I do not! Now, tell me about the situation at Griffon Wing before I decide to punish you for insubordination. “

Rylen’s laughter subsided even though his teasing smirk remained He launched into a summary of the situation at Griffon Wing Keep, pointing out parts of the area surrounding the desert keep where dark spawn and other troublesome creatures were located.

After he was finished, Cullen asked him questions about the status of the fortifications, and if he needed any additional men to deal with the problems he’d outlined, then began his own summary of their plans for Adamant. An hour later, Cullen straightened from his position bent over the map and used the tail of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face. “So, that’s the plan. When the Inquisitor and her team arrive in a few days, we’ll be ready to begin our assault on Adamant.” A soldier stood just outside the open tent flaps of the Command Tent, waiting to be acknowledged. Cullen sighed. What now? He waved him in irritably. “What is it, James?”

“Wilson has returned from the caverns, Ser. He reports that all is as you would have it.”

Rylen arched an eyebrow. “Caverns?”

Cullen relaxed, unable to stop the pleased smile creasing his features. “Very good, James. Tell Wilson he has done well.” James saluted and rushed away to obey his Commander’s orders, Cullen’s smile turned secretive. “And yes, a cavern. With a lovely little pond just perfect for washing away the desert dust and soaking your aching bones. And if you do not annoy me overmuch, I might tell you where it is.”

Rylen snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. ”And when have I not annoyed you?”

“Good point,” Cullen clapped him on the shoulder. “But come. I am certain you are weary from your journey. See to your command and get some rest.”

“Aye, Commander, that I will do.” Rylen nods and left to return to his troops.

Cullen shook his head. Bloody cheeky Starkhavener. Though he could not ask for a better Second or friend. Now that Rylen had been seen to, perhaps he could get an hour or so away to check on the cavern. His men would have done a good job, but there were yet things he wanted to see to himself.

“Geoffrey!” he called to his adjutant as he left the Command Tent and headed for his personal tent next door. “Ready my horse! I ride to the northern perimeter. I shall return shortly.”

“Yes, Ser!” Geoffrey saluted crisply.

Outside the cavern, Cullen dismounted his horse and unhooked his saddlebags. Slinging them over his shoulder, he slipped into the dark coolness of the cave. He quickly lit a torch and held it out in front of him. He surveyed the large, natural room. It was a wide, rough-hewn stone space with a spring-fed stream bubbling into a sunken pool at the back. His men had already swept the dirt off the stone floor, and he could see where they’d hammered in iron sconces into the cave walls to hold torches. Lit just so, this humble cavern transformed into a secluded grotto, perfect for seduction.

His heart stuttered nervously as his eyes passed over the pool, its steaming water setting dappled shadows dancing on the ceiling. Would Eala like it?  Would she allow him to touch her as he’d dreamed of doing for months now?

After setting his torch into a sconce, he stepped carefully around the shimmering water and knelt on the rough stone of the cave floor. Setting down his saddlebags, he reached inside and pulled out several thick, squat candles. He set them around the back ledge of the sunken pond, carefully placing each to achieve the effect he wanted. Maker, he ached for her. Would she have him? He was fairly certain that she’d been infatuated with him since the first time she’d treated him, and she seemed to welcome what little attentions he’d been able to show her.

Sighing, he tucked flint and steel next to the candles and stood, bending to pick up his saddlebags. He’d enjoyed this time away from Skyhold with Eala. Having her undivided attention and being able to spend a lot of time with her had been a blessing. But it was becoming harder and harder to resist pulling her down and flipping her under him during his treatments. He closed his eyes and recalled the feeling of her soft hands on his body, taking away his pain. He imagined her bright smile and the warmth in her brown eyes whenever they landed on him.

Yes, she had to feel the same way. She had to. His stomach tightened as he remembered the night she’d walked into him and the Inquisitor kissing in his office. He still had no idea how that even happened. He and the Inquisitor hadn’t been together since the journey to Skyhold. And honestly, Rylen had been right about her; the woman was as cold as ice.

He knew he’d hurt Eala that night, and if he’d hurt her, she had to feel something for him, right? His face heated with remembered embarrassment. Maker, he hoped she’d forgiven him for his lapse. Cullen shook his head and headed for the cavern entrance. He’d just have to wait and see what happened later tonight.


	8. I See Forever In Your Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The smut has arrived! Whew! It was harder than I thought to translate this scene to Cullen's POV, and then his dirty mind took over!
> 
> Anyway, thanks for the kudos and the comments, and I hope you enjoy!

Cullen smiled as Eala relaxed against his chest, her weight a reassuring warmth. He glanced down at her as he guided his horse along the sandy track through the tawny desert hills rising above the army encampment. She surveyed his face, her dark eyes glinting in the moonlight. What was she thinking to put such a pretty blush on her cheeks?  He winked at her, enjoying how her flush deepened.

 “We’re almost there,” he said, giving her waist a gentle squeeze.

“Where is there?” she sat forward and looked around. Inwardly groaning, he mourned the loss of contact between her back and his chest.

“So impatient,” he teased. He turned the horse into the nook of a rocky outcropping and halted. “And here we are.” He grinned as she took in their surroundings, her pretty eyes wide and curious.

He dismounted and reached up to lift her out of the saddle, his hands lingering just a little too long at her waist. He stepped back and let her investigate the little culvert. He swallowed to wet his suddenly dry throat. He hobbled his horse and quickly bent to scoop up the torch he’d left outside the cavern opening earlier.

Eala gasped and stepped deeper into the cave, touching the stalagmites poking up from the ground. She paused to gaze in wonder at the gently running spring pouring into the pool in the back.

 “What is this place?” she breathed, and he relaxed a little, the tightness in his chest dissolving.

“Do you like it,” Cullen asked, coming up beside her and wrapping an arm around her waist.

She nodded excitedly. “Yes. It’s beautiful, but when did you —“

“Our scouts found it during one of their forays, and I thought it would be — nice to have a real bath after so many weeks on the road.” He left her side to light the lantern and the candles before extinguishing the torch.

Cullen bit back his sigh of longing. The soft candlelight burnished her dark skin bronze and picked up the red highlights in her hair, gathered in a loose braid down her back. A few curls had come loose and spilled charmingly around her face. Maker! He wanted nothing more than to taste that skin and bury his fingers in her curls.

Her eyes went wide. “But —“

He chuckled and took off his sword belt, leaning the sword against an outcropping of stalagmites. “Well, love, I do not know about you, but after weeks of washing with naught but a bucket and cloth, that water looks far too inviting to pass up this chance.” His fingers made quick work of his belt buckle and started in on his laces. She turned toward him, a shocked expression on her face.

“Cullen! You — you — can’t! ‘Tis unseemly,” she protested, but he was committed now. He was doing this, and things between them were going to change. They had to — and from the way her eyes lingered on him, she was not as averse to the proposition as she would have him believe. He stripped off his pants and climbed down into the water, sighing as its warmth enveloped him.

“Maker’s breath, Cullen!” 

Ignoring her squeal of outrage as she turned away and hid her face, he calmly settled himself on a rocky ledge at the back of the pool. “Ahh, Maker, this water feels divine. Will you not join me, sweetheart?”

She stood on the large stones surrounding the pool, her indecision plain in her face. She gnawed at her lower lip with her teeth as she looked everywhere but at him, and for a moment, he wondered if he perhaps was pushing her too far. Then she lifted her head and met his eyes.

 “All right,” she said, lifting her chin. “I shall join you, but only if you promise to close your eyes while I undress and get in the water.” He quietly let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Anything you wish, my lady,” he said, bowing his head and shutting his eyes obediently. But he couldn’t hold back the smirk on his face as he listened to the sounds of fabric rustling as she removed her clothes. Would she strip down completely? Maker, he hoped so — although the thought of peeling away her wet shift from her luscious curves had appeal.

“Keep them closed,” she ordered sharply as if she could see into his mind. “Okay, you can open them,” she said, and he opened his eyes to find her clinging to the other side of the pond, as far away from him as she could get. Her color is high, and he could see the embarrassment and nervousness in her eyes.

 “Come here, love,“ he beckoned gently, patting the water at his side “I cannot talk to you properly when you’re so far away.” He leaned back against the rocks and stretched out his arms on either side of himself, closing his eyes. Maybe it would make her more comfortable if he wasn’t ogling her.

He listened to her sharp intake of breath and felt the water move around him as she crossed the pool. He slid one eye open, allowing one side of his mouth to quirk up as he noticed her smooth, bare shoulders above the waterline.  “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Y-yes, but it is still unseemly.”

“Sod unseemly,” he groused, his brows drawing together in a frown, tension knotting his shoulders, “we’ve been in close quarters for weeks, sweetling. Think of it as part of my therapy, if it eases your mind,” his voice trailed off into a long groan as he rolled his shoulders and winced. “But as for me, I find nothing wrong with two adults having a bath together. Reach into that bag, will you, and grab the wine.”

 “W-wine?” Eala stammered, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

“Something wrong with a bit of wine?” Cullen raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. Maker’s breath!  Was she going to fight him on everything tonight? He watched her gingerly reach for the bag while carefully keeping her body hidden underneath the water, and his frown returned. This was hardly an unusual circumstance; communal bathing was quite common, after all.

After she extracted the wine and glasses as well as the soap and towels he’d tucked into the bag before they’d left camp, she settled herself back on her ledge, making herself as small as possible. Perhaps the wine would help? He poured them each a glass, then leaned back against the rocks with a sigh.  “Maker, now this is heaven. I’m not sure I want to go back to camp.”

“You say that now, but I know you wouldn’t last even one day away from your precious troops and strategy plans,” she retorted, taking the goblet from him. 

“Mmm, you may be right.” She knew him too well! “But it is a nice fantasy, is it not? Just you and me in this wonderful relaxing water, no cares in the world beyond each other.”

“What? Did you — did you say that you —“

Cullen leaned forward, reaching out a hand to cup her cheek. “Yes,” he said, praying to the Maker that she could see the sincerity in his face, hear it in his words, “yes, sweetheart: in my perfect world, you would be with me, and we would share its delights together. Is that so difficult to believe?”

She closed her eyes and then opened them again as if she was trying to comprehend his words but couldn’t. “Uhm, okay, I guess that’s a nice fantasy,” she pulled away from him to take a sip of wine. “But why not the Inquisitor?”

 _Shit. Shit. Shit!_ There it was. The question he’d been dreading. Maker damn Lysarah and her petty games!

Cullen scooted closer to her and leaned in to brush his lips against hers. He pulled back to look at her with earnest eyes. “Oh, it’s much more than a fantasy, sweetheart, and that’s the other reason I brought you here. I am tired of dancing around this — thing between us. In a few days, we’ll assault Adamant Fortress, and I have no way of knowing if I will survive. I could not let this opportunity go by to let you know what you mean to me.”

“No,” she whispered, dropping her gaze and pulling away from him as if his touch stung. “No, no, no.”  Tears streaming down her cheeks, she snatched up the soap and turned away to slip into the deeper water in the center of the pool. 

Eala shook her head and submerged completely in the water. When she surfaced, her hair streaming water and coming loose around her shoulders in inky ringlets, her beauty took his breath away. Lust and want and something sweeter tumbled freely inside him.

He had to make her see. She had to  _know_. In all the time they’d spent together, those moments when it’d been just the two of them, the way she cared for him — Maker, the way she cared for everyone — her beautiful spirit shining so bright. How could she not see how much he had come to care for her?

“Eala?” he called out, getting to his feet, a concerned frown furrowing his brow.

She looked back at him uncertainly.  “I-I’m okay, “she said, the tremor in her voice belying her words. “I j-just need to wash, I’ll be done in a moment.” Turning away from him again, she took the rest of her hair out of its braid and started to scrub it with the soap, dunking her head into the water to rinse it out.

Setting his jaw, Cullen crossed the pond toward her. She gasped in surprise when his hands fell on her shoulders and turned her around to face him. He stared down at her, once again taken aback by how small she was. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. Her full lips trembled as she met his gaze, her arms coming up to cover her large breasts, their upper curves visible above the bubbling water.

“Eala,” he murmured, his hands burying themselves in the thick, curling strands of her waist-length hair. “Maker, you are beautiful.” He leaned down and kissed her, his lips hungry and demanding. His hands cupped her head, tilting it up toward him as he deepened the kiss. She melted in his arms, allowing him control.

Maker, she tasted so sweet. The hints of it that he’d sampled on prior occasions exploded on his tongue, and now he gladly drowned in it. Her warm, wet palms caressed the hard planes of his chest, his skin burning where she touched him. He cradled her jaw as his mouth covered hers again and again.

When he finally broke the kiss, he did not let her go. Instead, he continued to hold her head, his fingers buried in her dark curls. He leaned his forehead against hers, and they both breathed in the moist air, their chests heaving in tandem. It had been so long since he’d shared himself with someone who genuinely cares for him and about him. He almost didn’t know how to process it.

He was so lost the haze of his passion that it was a moment or two before he became aware that Eala is frantically pushing against his chest, obviously wanting to free herself from his embrace. When he let her go, she stumbled back and immediately put more space between them, her arms protectively wrapped around her chest. Confusion clouded his brain. She — she’d accepted his kiss. He’d felt her respond, he knew it.

“What —“ he started to say, but she interrupted him as she turned away.

 “You should not have done that.”

He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, resting it on the back of his neck as he watched her, his frustration rising. She was doing it again. Retreating from him whenever he tried to advance their relationship “What?” he rejoined, “kiss you? Tell you that you’re beautiful? What?”

As if he hadn’t spoken, Eala felt around the bottom of the pond for the bar of soap with her foot. She took a deep breath and bent to retrieve it, then offered it to him. “Your turn,” she said calmly and returned to her perch at the back edge of the pool.

Cullen sighed and ran a hand across his jaw. Has he misread her? He didn’t think so, but — Maker’s breath, the time had passed for half-measures!  He followed her and stood in front of her, commanding her with his eyes to look at him.

 “No,” he insisted, “tell me: what shouldn’t I have done?”

Her eyes drifted over him, and her cheeks color. He could see her struggling with herself. Maker, he wanted to just take her in his arms again and show her how much he wanted her, show her how right she was for him, but he held back. They needed to talk, to leave nothing to question.

Eala exhaled and looked away from him. “Any of it, “ she brought her knees to her chest and hugged them, “you can’t —“ her voice cracked. “Not with me!” To his dismay, tears started falling from her eyes. “Besides, you’re with the Inquisitor.”

Cullen closed his eyes and grimaced before he knelt in the water and took her chin in one hand, forcing her to look at him. “Why not you?” he traced her cheek with his fingers. “Don’t you realize yet how crazy I am about you? You are the only person who treats me like I am human. You have seen me at my worst, weak and bedridden, yet you do not think me less of a commander — a man. “

He twined a curling skein of her hair around his finger. “Maker, look at you. You are so beautiful — inside and out. With this glorious hair falling about your shoulders like a midnight cloak and soft brown eyes, so kind and caring, even for a broken-down old ex-Templar, the real question is how could I  _not_  kiss you,” his voice deepened to a low rumble, “want you?”

“You think I am beautiful?”

He pulled her toward him, and his mouth crashed down on hers in a frenzied kiss that left both of them breathless. “Andraste, yes!” he growled as he bent his head to kiss her again, but stopped short when she again pushed against his chest.

She looked at him with huge tear-filled dark eyes, and it twisted something in his chest. “You’re with the Inquisitor, Cullen — even if what you say is true, we can’t do this.”

He sighed and leaned back, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No, I am not,” he denied, “I never made her any promises, nor has she. Anyway, we only shared a few kisses, nothing more. Do you really think that I would be here with you if it were otherwise?”

She looked into his eyes and appeared to be considering his words. His heart thumped in his chest as he prayed to the Maker for her to make the right choice. She pursed her full lips, then wrapped her arms around his neck and raised her face to invite his kiss.

Cullen leaned down and covered her mouth with his, joy and relief mingling with passion as he lifted her into his arms, encouraging her legs to wrap around his waist. Her warm, wet, naked body sliding against his felt so good, so perfect, he almost couldn’t think. He carried her out of the pool, padding over to the blanket he’d spread out along the pool’s edge.

He didn’t stop kissing her as he lowered her down carefully, and she seemed to melt in his arms, responding to him tentatively but eagerly.  But when his hand reached for a breast, she stiffened and tried to jerk away. “No,” she whispered. “They’re too — big.”

“They’re perfect,” he disagreed as he cupped one and then the other, running his thumbs over her nipples, causing them to stiffen into hard points. He showed her with his fingers and his mouth how much he loved her voluptuous figure, kissing his way down her gently rounded abdomen. He listened to the way her breathing hitches as he closed in on her core, inhaling the scent of her. Maker, how he’d longed to have her laid bare like this, to feel her softness under his hands, to take his time in worshipping her as she deserved.

He nuzzled her quim and drew the flat of his tongue along her slit. Her body jerked, little mewls of pleasure falling from her lips. She raised her head to look at him, and he met her gaze, a smirk lifting one corner of his mouth. Her lips parted, as if she was about to say something, then her hands fisted in his hair as she murmured his name and fell back against the blanket.

His blood was flowing hot, pooling in his groin, his cock and balls heavy between his thighs.  He hummed with pleasure as he returned to work on her with his lips and tongue. His fingers parted her while he nibbled at her pearl. Her hips bucked against him, seeking more friction.

“Oh, yes, my darling, come for me,” he crooned against her flesh, and she immediately started to tremble, her cries of completion vibrating through him as he continued to suck and lick at her nub. She collapsed on the blanket afterward, clearly spent, and he smiled, moving up to cradle her against his body, his lips pressing kisses to her forehead, nose, and lips, a hand carding through her wild raven curls.

The way she looked, her skin flushed and covered with a light sheen of sweat — just absolutely wrecked by him — made it hard for him to breathe. Coils of desire braid down in his belly, his cock rock-hard and throbbing, precome leaking from his tip and sticking to her skin where he was pressed against her.

“My beautiful Eala,” he whispered, brushing her hair out of her face. He lowered his head to kiss her. “Mmm…I have wanted to do that for a long, long time now, did you know that?”

“I did not,” she slurred, opening her eyes to peer at him hazily.

He laughed and kissed her again. “Well, now you do.”

His hand trailed up and down her arm, unable to stop touching her. He was drunk on how soft her skin felt, the way she responded to him, her shy smile. She tentatively ran a hand down his chest. Maker. Oh, her touch. He wanted — needed it. He collapsed onto his back beside her with a deep sigh and closed his eyes.

She trailed her hand down the line of hair on his ridged abdomen, and it jerked under her touch, his breath hitching. She paused just above his pubis, and her soft dark eyes met his golden ones, a question in them.

_May I?_

In answer, took her small hand in his much larger one and placed it over his shaft.  A deep groan left him as she started to instinctively stroke him, and he arched into her hand.

“Mmhmm, love, just like that,” he encouraged breathlessly.

His body responded to her like a wick to flame; heat flushed his skin and sweat broke out all over his torso. His cock was weeping more and more clear fluid. She surprised him by leaning down to run her tongue over the head and sampling some of the fluid. His entire body shuddered. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she rolled it around in her mouth, seeming to enjoy his taste as she kept rubbing him up and down.

He lifted his shoulders off the blanket and propped himself up on his elbows so he could watch her, his eyes glassy and his lips parted. The little minx looked him in the eye as she deliberately picked up the pace of her ministrations, sweeping her thumb over the sensitive head of his cock, which was now constantly weeping fluid. His spine arched off the blanket, heat spreading behind his balls.

“Oh, Eala, that feels so good. So fucking good. You have no idea.”

“Cullen,” she whispered, returning her attention to his cock, its head purple with engorged blood, the tacky fluid clinging to her fingers. He hissed, teeth clenched together and his eyes squeezed shut, his hips thrusting.

“Sweetheart, as much as I — oh Maker — as much as I am enjoying this—“ his voice faded into another hiss. “You have to stop, or I am going to spill before I can —“ he grunts “— I need to feel you around me.”

“Oh,” she squeaked as he reversed their positions. Now, he was on top of her, propped up on one muscular arm as he traced a line down her body with his other hand. His hips gently thrust against her the welcoming warmth of her quim. He hesitated, poised above her, his eyes searching hers for any fear or uncertainty.

“Are you sure you want this — with me?” he asked solemnly.

A frown wrinkled the smooth skin of her brow. “W-why are you asking that? Who wouldn’t want this with you?”

 “There are a few people,” he drawled dryly, then his tone sobered again. “But I need to know, love, if you want me to take you. I need the words.”

“Cullen, yes, oh yes!” As if to emphasize her words, she lifted up and kissed him, running her tongue across the seam of his lips. He moaned and returned her kiss fervently.

Pulling back, he closed his eyes and murmured “Thank the Maker,” tension uncoiling in him. He opened them to stare down at her, admiring her kiss-swollen lips and her hazy passion-dark eyes. He sucked in a shuddering breath as he reached between her thighs, testing her readiness. “So wet for me,” he crooned as he stroked her pearl. She keened and arched against him.

“Cullen,” she gasped his name, thrusting against his hand. He leaned down and captured her lips in a searing kiss as he adjusted himself at her entrance.

_Slow, go slow, Rutherford_

He drew back from her slightly to rasp in her ear. “This shouldn’t hurt at all, but if it does, tell me, and we’ll stop. All right?”

She nodded her head in understanding, biting her lower lip, her eyes wide and expectant.

His entire body was burning for her, the heat spreading out from his lower body as he gathered all his Templar control, every muscle tightening. He thrust his hips forward and sheathed himself inside her in one stroke. She gasped as he stretched her, and he waits for a moment as she adjusts to him. Maker, the feeling of being cocooned within her for the first time! She was tight and hot. And so wet. Cullen groaned and arched his back, his head thrown back and his eyes tightly closed.

“Sweet Maker, Eala, you feel so good.”

Andraste, he couldn’t hold back any longer; he had to move. He started with shallow thrusts, then going deeper as she responded to him, her shuddering breaths and little cries letting him know she was enjoying this as much as he was.

She reached a hand to caress his chest, her fingers twining around his chest hair as his hand slid down her body and slipped between them to find her pearl. His thumb stroked her as he slowed his thrusts to a gentle rocking motion. “Cullen,” she cried out, “I’m — I’m—“

He leaned back and smiled as his thumb started going faster. “Yes, love, that’s it, let it happen.”

“Oh, Cullen!” she arched against him and wrapped her arms around his neck, gasping as her second orgasm took her.  He watched her reverently as her body shuddered with the aftermath of her completion, her hair wild and her shoulders heaving.

“My sweet love, you are so perfect, so tight,” his voice was low and urgent. He leaned down and kissed her mouth, trailing kisses across her face and sucking at her earlobe. He hummed as he bit the sensitive skin beneath her ear, soothing the area with a lick while his hips continued to thrust in and out, in and out. “So good — oh, Maker!”

A low rumbling groan reverberated in his chest as he pulled out quickly and knelt over her. His balls tightened as he gripped his cock in his fist and gave it a few pumps, his face contorting as he spilled his seed over her belly in short arcs of white liquid. Eala watched him with huge eyes as his hips continued to piston back and forth as he wrung the last of his spend out of himself. He collapsed on the blanket beside her, his chest heaving with exertion.

She sat up beside him and slowly dipped a finger in the liquid coating her rounded belly. Then, she brought her hand closer to her face so she could examine it more closely. He chuckled tiredly, resting his head on one arm while his other hand brushed back his damp hair.

“Having fun with that, are you?”

“Oh!” Flushing, she quickly rose to wash her hand in the stream, taking the time to cup some of the water and clean herself off. She blushed more deeply when she noticed him watching her, and she dragged her thick curling tresses over her nakedness. She quickly plucked up her shift from where it lay at the edge of the pond and put it on. She returned to the blanket and sat down beside him.

Cullen reached up to finger one of her straps. “Why have you covered yourself? I was enjoying watching your delightful breasts bounce, and the curve of your arse is so plump and perfect to behold — why do you deny me the pleasure of looking at you, hmm?”

Eala looked away, her expression uncertain. “I wish you would not say those things,’ she murmured, playing with one of the thick curling tresses tumbling into her lap. Cullen sighed, rising up on one knee in front of her.

“Look at me, Eala,” he said gently, one finger tipping her chin upward. “You are beautiful, and I find you beyond attractive — have I not proven that here tonight?”

“Y-yes, but Cullen —“ He silenced her with a kiss, pulling her against him, one hand buried in her hair and the other cupping and caressing her arse. He growled as he pulled off her shift and pushed her down on the blanket. As he covered her lips with his and his hands started roaming her body, he vowed to spend the rest of his life proving to her how much he wanted and needed her in his life.

 


	9. I Never Wanted to Be Your Weekend Lover. I Only Wanted to Be Some Kind of Friend

 “Now, what have you to show me, Commander? Are we ready to attack the fortress or not?” the Inquisitor snapped, her cold eyes passing over the markers on the map to glare into his.

Cullen swallowed, his cheeks still hot from how she’d discovered him moments ago. Rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, he pointed to the map with the other. “Yes, Inquisitor. It will be as you say, we will start the siege in three days. I, um, have prepared the trebuchets and they are ready to move forward to this point there.”

Her eyes narrowed, and he felt her gaze penetrating through to his marrow. “I hope that is so. The things I’ve heard about your journey here and what I just witnessed, well, you are not exactly inspiring confidence.”

Irritation rose in him, aided by the pain still radiating from his lower back into his hip. He glanced at Solas standing very close to the Inquisitor. He’d followed her into the Command tent as if he’d had every right to be there, even though he had never before taken part in a tactical meeting. His presence set Cullen’s teeth on edge, and he found he didn’t want to have this conversation in his company.

“Inquisitor,” he straightened his back, “might I have a word with you in private?”

She set her jaw and it felt like the temperature in the tent had dropped by a full degree as she skewered him with her icy eyes. “I see no reason why you can’t say whatever it is you want to say with Solas here,” she said.

Cullen bit back a sigh and gave in. “We had some issues with the wagons. It was remiss of me not to have checked their condition thoroughly before we left Skyhold. I thought I had, but quite obviously, I did not.”

“And what of your condition? Are you trying to tell me it had nothing to do with your tardiness?”

He ground his back teeth, barely holding back the retort he wanted to give. Instead, he met her eyes and said plainly “No, Inquisitor, it did not.”

She gave him a look that said she didn’t believe a word he was saying, and anxiety made his stomach clench painfully. She wanted him back on the lyrium. If she ordered him to take it, he was duty-bound to obey. To take it now, after he’d gone this long without was something he couldn’t bear to think about. What example would that set for the other Templars? He’d wanted to prove to them — to himself — that it could be done. That the bonds binding him to his old life could be broken.

Thankfully, they spent the rest of the meeting going over plans for the coming battle, and the issue of lyrium didn’t come up. Solas’ quiet disapproval fused with the Inquisitor’s disdain, and by the time the council is over, he was sweating, and not just from the hot weather.

Afterward, as he turned toward his sleeping tent, the Inquisitor lay a hand on his arm to stop him.  What now? He raised an eyebrow. “Is there something you needed?”

 “This is why I wanted you back on lyrium, Cullen,” she reasoned, her eyes less cold than they usually were. She squeezed his arm, and it was all he could do not to yank it away from her. “Without it, you’re weak,” she continued, “you can hardly function without your own personal healer, and even then, your illness causes delays!”

“I have already explained that to you; it had nothing to do with…my condition,” he couldn’t keep the annoyance out of his voice this time. Was she going to do it now? Order him to take it? He clenched his fists at his sides to keep his hands from shaking.

“I could order you to take it, you know.”

“But you will not,” he countered, taking a chance that the momentary warmth in her eyes meant that she cared about him as more than a tool in this war.

“Not yet. And I hope it won’t come to that, but it’s a close thing now, Commander. I need you strong. The Inquisition needs you strong.”

“I am aware,” he said, breathing an internal sigh of relief.

“Good night, Cullen.”

“And to you as well, Lysarah.”

Cullen slipped into the tent and stumbled past a concerned Eala to fall into his bed with a groan. He was so damned tired, and everything ached. He’d already been having a bad day with his withdrawals, but now, he felt ten times worse. “Maker.”

“Are you all right?”

He opened his eyes to look at her, and the warmth and care in her eyes fed the hunger in his soul and soothed the raw parts of him. He didn’t deserve her.

“Heard that, did you?” At her nod, he continued, “I don’t bloody well know how I am supposed to feel right now if you want my honest answer. She’s right, you know. I am weak and useless as a commander because of my…condition. If I were a better man, I would have insisted on a replacement long ago.”

“Oh, Cullen, no,” she sat down beside him and cupped his face in both her hands. “You are the strongest man I know, and the Inquisition could ask for no better a commander than you. You do the work of ten men!”

“Thank you for your confidence, love, but I know what I am.”  His weak smile gave way to a grimace as he sat up and got to his feet.  “I only came in here to let you know that you ought not to wait up for me, believe it or not, but it seems I cannot even do that without collapsing into bed,” he threw up his hands and huffed out a breath, “I have much work to do to prepare for the battle; do not wait up for me.” Straightening his aching back, he stalked out of the tent and into the evening heat without looking back, afraid of the pity he might see in her eyes.

  

* * *

  

“Give the order to make camp,” Cullen told his adjutant and sighed as the man lifted his horn to his mouth and blew. He watched the man ride forward to pass on his orders to each company commander. Turning in the saddle, he glanced at the company of Grey Wardens trailing behind the main army.

He exhaled a breath and rubbed his forehead. They’d been keeping a noticeable distance from the main force ever since they’d departed from the Western Approach. There had been…issues. The Inquisition forces have been slow to accept them into their ranks, understandable, given that Wardens were responsible for killing the Divine — and falling to blood magic! Why in the Void was it always blood magic?

But he had to lead this army, and that now includes these Wardens. He had to maintain unit cohesion, and that meant that his men had to accept them, and vice versa. Maker. The additional stress of It was enough to turn his current headache into a migraine.

He kicked his horse into a trot and rounded the back of the line, chivying the stragglers along. He caught a few resentful looks from some of the Wardens and stifled a groan. He made a mental note to start team-building exercises right away, his mind quickly running through his options. He’d have to run them himself, which meant he had to rearrange his morning between receiving reports from his lieutenants and going over the day’s planned march. Glancing at the sullen Wardens, he huffed out a frustrated breath. Ahead, he could see the front column turning into the designated camp location. “As it comes,” he grumbled to himself, spurring his mount forward.

When he finally retired to his tent later in the evening, he found Eala puttering about the tent. He smiled, thinking of how nice it would be to have her living with him once when they got back to Skyhold. His tower could certainly use a woman’s touch. And perhaps it was time to fix those holes in his roof and to make his quarters more comfortable.

“Hello, love,” he greeted her, stepping forward to press a kiss to her forehead. She smiled at him, and as usual, his heartbeat quickened. “How did you fare today?” He started removing his traveling armor, and she quickly moved to help him.

“Good. I enjoyed the ride. The Orlesian countryside is so pretty.” She took his breastplate from him and started working on one vambrace, and then the other while he pulled his shirt from his pants and started unbuttoning it.

“I’m glad,” he said, wincing as he shrugged out of his shirt. He rolled his shoulders and hissed, lifting a hand to massage the back of his neck. “Maker.”

“Cullen, you’re pushing yourself too hard,” she admonished, her capable fingers loosening his sword belt and setting it aside. “I wish you’d slow down.”

He blew out a breath as he sat on the side of his cot to remove his boots. “You know I cannot do that, love. I need to get this group of Wardens back to Skyhold as soon as possible. The faster they integrate into the Inquisition, the better off we’ll be.”

Pulling off his belt, she countered, “you can take some time to make sure that you don’t exhaust yourself.”

Ignoring her words, he leaned over and rested his head on her shoulder, sighing. “Mmm. Can I sleep here?”

 “No, you may not.” She chuckled and shoved at him playfully. “But if you’re good and get into bed without a fuss, I’ll give you a treat.”

“Fine,” he huffed, getting to his feet with a groan to shuck off his pants.

Once he was naked, he crawled into bed and settled on his stomach, looking forward to Eala’s soft hands on his aching body.

  

* * *

  

“Eala, are you all right?” Cullen turned on his side, watching Eala carefully as she crossed to the table and the small medicine chest resting on top of it.

“Yes, why?” her gaze flicked to him and back as she put the jar of liniment away. She seemed anxious like she’d rather be anywhere but here.

 "You seem — preoccupied. You’ve been this way since we arrived back home.”

 “I am fine.” She returned to the bed and sat beside him, reaching up to caress his stubbled cheek. “Don’t worry about me.”

She was lying, he knew it. Something was wrong, but his desire to get to the bottom of whatever it was fell to the dulcet tone of her voice and even softer touch. Instead of pressing, he settled for reassuring her.

“Sweetheart, I will always worry about you.” He captured her hand in his and turned his head to press a kiss to her palm. “But I understand if you do not wish to tell me just now. Just know that I will always listen if you need someone to talk to.”

To his surprise, she tugged her hand free and glanced away from him. “I, um, I should get back to my quarters. You need your rest.”

He grabbed her hand again, halting her from rising, a tight ball of hurt and disappointment forming in his chest. “What? You are not sleeping here?”

Doubt assailed him as her eyes seemed to fixate on their clasped hands. What if she’d decided she didn’t want to saddle herself with a broken-down man like him after all? Could he blame her? He’d thought perhaps Eala was different — but maybe it was too much to ask of any woman.

The silence between them stretched uncomfortably until finally, Eala pulled her hand free and stood abruptly.  “I — I  have to go. I’ll see you in the morning,” she said.

“Eala — wait!”

His heart sank as she slipped down the ladder and was gone. He rolled on his back and stared at the blackness of the night through the hole in his roof. Yes, perhaps it had always been too much to ask, and yet, this change in her had him reeling.

He’d not had as much time to spend with her on the return trip, true, and his workload had been brutal since they’d been back, but Maker, he was _trying_. He remembered how she’d looked lying beside him every morning, her hair a curtain of black ringlets spread across the pillow, rosy lips parted, with the blush of sleep gracing her cheeks. His groin tightened with the memory of the way her soft body had felt against him, how she’d opened to him.

He let out a frustrated growl and rolled on his side, slipping his arm under his pillow to smash it between his head and shoulder. There was something wrong, and it may have nothing at all to do with him. Worry for her clawed at his gut. Did she not realize that he wanted to help her in any way he could? Maker, how he loved her.

What?

Maker’s breath, he was in love with the girl. Despite the war, his withdrawals, and everything.  Cullen squeezed his pillow tighter. How long had it been since he’d even entertained such emotions? Since Kinloch, most likely. And Amell. He grimaced and shoved those memories away.

Sighing, he sat up in bed and opened his end table drawer to pull out the bottle of whiskey he kept inside. Twisting off the cap, he took a pull of the fiery liquid, enjoying the burn. Sex he’d had plenty of. At the Blooming Rose and with a few women around Kirkwall with whom he’d made arrangements.  But whenever they’d started to want more than he could give them, he’d leave them to find other more suitable situations. He’d never lied to them, of course, never promised them more, but their discontent seemed inevitable.

He’d not wanted more since — well since he’d been a young Templar. It was a strange feeling, to be sure, but Maker, it changed so much about his life. Colors were brighter, sounds were softer and most significant of all, he felt he had something to live for beyond duty for the first time in years. He took another drink from the bottle then yawned and set it aside, throwing himself down on his mattress. Sleep. He needed sleep else he’d be useless in the morning. Tomorrow he and his little minx were going to talk. He closed his eyes and let his weariness take him.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Cullen was grabbing a quick bite from the kitchens in between meetings when he ran into Dorian. The Mage had just wandered in as Cullen was putting together a quick sandwich of left-over roast beef and cheese.

Dorian eyed his lunch and pronounced, “So Josie was right about your simple tastes.” He crossed to the mage-cooled icebox and pulled out a container. Putting it down on the high table across from Cullen, he opened it and grabbed a spoon. Scents of cardamom and saffron filled the room. “Try this, barbarian,” he said, scooping out a spoonful of the pudding and offering it to Cullen.

Cullen snorted and smirked, nodding his thanks. He swallowed the bite, set the spoon down and returned to assembling his meal. He looked up and laughed at the stunned expression on Dorian’s face. “Did you expect me to gag or something?” he asked wryly, “believe it or not, I’ve had Kheer before, Dorian. While I cannot say it is my favorite, I have tried it, among other northern foods.”

Dorian found a bowl and started spooning out some of his Kheer, sniffing in exaggerated offense. “I would have expected no less from such an uninspiring palate, Commander. Doubtless, you’d rather dine on meat and potatoes.”

Cullen picked up his sandwich and took a bite, leaning one hip against the table. “Is there something wrong with meat and potatoes?” 

“Only if you prefer to bore your taste buds to death!” Dorian rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. “Fereldans! Please tell me you won’t bore our dear Eala with your bland tastes.”

Cullen frowned at the mention of Eala, remembering her recent change in behavior. Dorian knew her fairly well. Perhaps he could shed some light on what was going on with her. He set down his sandwich and met Dorian’s eyes across the table. “Has she, um, mentioned any problems?”

Dorian narrowed his eyes at the other man. “What makes you think she might have problems?”

The Mage’s flip response and the sly look tipped Cullen off. “You know something!” he accused, gripping the table with white knuckles and leaning across it, golden eyes glaring into grey. “You will tell me everything you know. Now!”

Dorian stood his ground, calmly eating Kheer. He met Cullen’s intense gaze with a droll look. “It’s funny that you think you can order me around, Commander, but I am not one of your underlings. Now,” he turned and carried his bowl to the washbasin and rinsed it out.  Looking back at Cullen, he stated, “Eala is a sweet girl with a heart much too big for her size. She always looks outside of herself. You’re a smart man. Connect the dots.”

“What in the Void does that mean?” Cullen called out after him, but Dorian was already gone. He shook his head. Of course, he knew Eala had a big heart. She cared about every person in Skyhold, tending all their hurts and illnesses. She took care of him. A pang caught him in the region of his heart. But was he just another patient to her, just another person to care for? He didn’t think he could bear it if that were the case. And she was still hiding something from him, some problem she was having. Did she think him incapable of helping her deal with whatever it was? His jaw tightened. He was no invalid! Of course, he had his issues, but damn it, he was still the Commander of this Inquisition. If she had a problem, she needed to talk to him about it!

Cullen sighed. Thinking about it now would do him no good, and he had work to do. Setting it aside for the moment, he finished his sandwich and left the kitchen, already thinking about what he needed to prepare for the next round of meetings.

 

* * *

 

That night, after his treatment, Cullen did not wait for her to put away the liniment. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Eala and captured her lips in a demanding kiss. He sighed into her mouth as she melted against him, her arms going around his neck and twining in the short golden hair at his nape. Yes. Her body did not lie; she still wanted him at least. In one smooth movement, he had her beneath him on the bed, his large body hovering over hers as he supported his weight with one strong arm.

“Stay,” he growled.

“Cullen.” She tried to avert her eyes, but he grabbed her chin in a gentle but unavoidable grip.

“No. Look at me,” he commanded. Her lips parted over white teeth, and her breathing hitched, her eyes huge and dilated. She swallowed, and he could feel her heart racing. She reached up to trace the line of his smirk with one finger. He caught it in his teeth and nibbled at it. “I want you,” his voice was deep and rough; he tried to infuse it with all the desire and love he felt for her. His hand palmed her breast and dropped his head to place wet kisses on her neck. “You drive me insane, woman,” he whispered in her ear.

“Then, dear Ser, you may have me,” she said.

He groaned and kissed her again, dragging his mouth across hers, his stubbled chin rasping against her skin. It had been too long since he’d had her. He had to feel her skin to skin. Impatiently, he stripped off her dress and snarled in frustration when he saw her undergarments. Maker’s breath!  Why did they make undergarments with so many sodding buttons?

She smiled shyly at him, and her hands covered his before he could rip her shift off her. She took over for him and undid the buttons herself. He set upon her bare skin as soon as she exposed it with lips, tongue, teeth, and rough, calloused fingers.

He took one nipple in his mouth, and she arched into him reflexively. Maker, her skin tasted so good, salty with a hint of spice. She gripped his skull with one hand while she carded through his curls with the other, and he leaned into her touch, reveling it as a dehydrated man might in his first sip of cool, clean water.

But it wasn’t enough; Cullen wanted to see her, wanted to drink her beauty in. He spun them around so that she was sitting astride him, her shift falling away to leave her bare save for her small clothes. She brought forward her long raven curls to conceal her ample breasts and crossed her arms over them, shame coloring her cheeks.

“No, do not hide yourself from me.” He pulled her arms down and brushed back her hair. He raised up on one elbow to cup one of her breasts, bringing it to his mouth. He suckled on a nipple, caressing her sensitive skin with his calloused palms. “These are glorious, and one day, if you will permit me to be crude, I hope you will let me fuck them until I bathe you with my spend — until you wear a necklace of pearls ‘round your lovely throat.

“And here,” he dropped his hand to stroke her rounded stomach. “I love how soft you are, how welcoming and womanly you are. You are not so thin that I fear I might break you should our lovemaking get a little rough.” He captured her lips in a searing kiss as his hands worked her smalls down over her legs and off. “My darling Eala, never doubt how perfect you are in my eyes.”

Eyes wet, she cupped his cheeks with both hands and returned his kiss, her tongue tentatively brushing his as she dragged her fingers through his hair. The slight pain from the tug of her nails felt delicious. He returned her kiss, sliding his hands up her arms and around her back.

Heart thundering in his chest and his breathing ragged, he pulled away to catch his breath. She appeared just as affected as he, her beautiful breasts heaving as she sucked air into her lungs. Maker, but this woman set him on fire! He was hard to the point of pain, but he ignored it; he wanted to savor her. He lay back against his pillows, a smirk lifting the scarred corner of his lips. “Come up here and straddle my face,” he commanded.

“What? But —“

He picked her up and settled her above his face, grinning wickedly up at her. “I want to enjoy watching you go to pieces above me while I pleasure you with my mouth,” he growled and tucked his mouth into her mound. As his tongue worked her quim, her head fell back, and she arched her spine, her long tresses brushing his stomach. His large hands slipped between her legs and cupped her, his thumbs spreading her apart so that he could thoroughly explore her.

Eala keened. “Cullen! Oh, Cullen!” She tossed her head, a wild thing writhing above him, so beautiful and primal that it was all he could do to prevent himself from coming untouched then and there. He felt her end building, and he quickened his pace.

_Yes, my angel, come for me._

She trembled with the force of her orgasm and cried out his name over and over in a seemingly endless litany. Maker, he would never get tired of hearing it spill from her lips. When it was over, she collapsed against him, her hair spilling across his chest, dark lashes fanning across flushed cheeks, and kiss-swollen lips parted in exhaustion. Warmth filling his chest, he cradled her against him, shifting so her head rested comfortably on his shoulder.

He murmured softly to her, his treasure, pressing light kisses to her brow, cheek, and lips. He let himself relax, allowed himself to just enjoy this moment with the woman he loved. When she came to, she lifted her head to look at him with hazy eyes, and he smiled gently.

“Welcome back, sweetheart,” he said.

She sat up, blinking owlishly. “What happened?”

He chuckled. “The Orlesians call it ‘Le Petit Mort,’ which translates to the ‘little death’ in Common.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You — ah — came so hard you blacked out,” he said, a smug smirk curving his lips.

Her eyes widened in shock, and she blushed furiously. “Oh,” she gasped. Maker, her innocence was delightful!

“More like Oh, Cullen, Cullen, Cullen, actually,” he teased, his smirk transforming into a broad, face-splitting grin. “I rather enjoyed the way you were calling out my name.”

She snuggled closer to him, tucking her face into the crook of his neck. “I’d like to learn how to give you ‘Le Petit Mort.’ Have you ever experienced it before?”

Cullen briefly shut his eyes. Andraste preserve him, the thought of her pleasuring him to the point of becoming insensate was an intriguing thought, one he most definitely wanted to encourage. He was silent for a moment as he thought about his answer. “I came close one time, but I have always been too wound up. At least that’s what I’ve been told.”

“Well,” she sat up and regarded him with bright eyes. “We shall just have to find out how to relax you.”

He covered her mouth in a long, lingering kiss. “I’d like that.”

The sensation of someone watching him woke Cullen the following morning. He opened his eyes to the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld. His angel was sitting up beside him in the bed, her hair a mass of raven curls tumbling around her shoulders, and her soft brown eyes gleamed as they trailed over his body hungrily.

“Good morning, love,” he said softly, amused, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Oh!” Her eyes flew up to his face and his sleepy golden gaze, her cheeks flushing. “Cullen! You startled me!”

He chuckled warmly and arched a honey brow. “So it seems. Enjoying the view?” It was bloody nice to be wanted so obviously, especially after his failed relationship with the Inquisitor, even if they had yet to establish the depth of her feelings for him. And he was just a man, after all. Her compliments warmed him. He’d be lying if he denied he enjoyed them.

“Beast! Like you need any more compliments on your golden good looks!” She slapped his chest, but a small grin took the bite out her words. “You know I do!”

“Oh, come here, you!” he growled, pulling her down to lie on top of him. “My golden good-looks aside, there is something we need to discuss.” His expression became serious. How would she take this? Although he’d rather not start their morning off with such a heavy topic, it had to be done. His heart couldn’t take any more evasions.

She hugged herself, and her lips trembled as they quirked up at the corners. “W-what did you want to talk about?”

He sighed and bit his bottom lip, his brow creasing. “You — Maker damn it, Eala, we’ve been back for nearly two weeks, and I barely get a chance to see you except for my treatments. You run away before I can ask you to stay. Am I wrong in thinking that there is more between us, or am I just your project — a broken ex-Templar to heal?” His eyes locked with hers, willing her to give him the answer he longed for.

 “Oh, Cullen.” Tears welled in Eala’s eyes, and her shocked expression told him all he needed to know. He blew out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I didn’t realize I —“ she looked directly into his eyes, “you are so much more to me than that. I—”

He silenced her with a long kiss, both of his hands coming up to bury his fingers in her long dark curls. When he released her lips, his voice was gravelly and rough. “Then you will move your belongings in here today! There will be no more sleeping apart and I —“ he kissed her again “—will not hear another word about it. Is that clear, young lady?”

She tucked her head against his chest. “Yes, Ser,” she said dutifully.

“Good girl. ”

His hands slid out of her hair and down her back. He cupped her arse, lifting her, so she was sitting astride him. His cock brushed against her and, Maker, she was wet for him already. Angling his hips, he slid into her, groaning as she took him in inch by inch. She arched her back, her breasts thrusting forward. He sat up and took a nipple in his mouth, enjoying the way the rhythm of her breathing changed. He kissed his way up her chest, up her throat, and finally finding her lips in a searing kiss. Wetness flooded around his cock, and it was all he could do to contain himself.

“So perfect,” he murmured against her mouth, “so damned perfect.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and started to move. Hesitantly at first, and then with more confidence. He crushed her against him and hungrily kissed her as she rode him. She was making little mewling noises that went straight to his cock.

He flipped them around until she lay on her back beneath him and stopped moving. He just stared down at her, his eyes intense. Her eyes met his, mirroring the look in them and her hips bucked against him, silently begging him to move, to finish them both, but he denied her. Slowly, he brushed away a curling strand of hair from her face.

“Be still,” he ordered, “I just want to feel you wrapped around my cock. Oh.” He shut his eyes and exhaled a breath. “I —  I need this. Maker, you feel incredible.”

“Cullen, please,” she begged, and the sound of it, the fact of it, made him throb. He hissed but kept his hips still; his control was on a hair-trigger. All it would take to shatter him was one squeeze, one thrust, one _whisper_. Then it came, the plaintive mewl of his name and he lost it. His hips seemed to have a mind of their own as he drilled into her. Eala moaned with every thrust and, thank the Maker she was close because she came just as he exploded inside her. He threw back his head and roared, his cries mingling with hers, echoing off the stone walls.

Completely spent, Cullen rested his forehead on hers as he waited for his breathing to calm. Maker’s breath, he doubted he’d ever come that hard in his life. Eala lifted her chin to brush a kiss across his nose, and he nuzzled her in turn.

“Maker, Cullen, I think the entire keep heard you,” she teased, wrapping her legs around him and smoothing his hair back. “Whatever will your men say!”

He lifted his head to smirk down at her. “Nothing, if they know what’s good for them, but even if they do, I do not care,” he dropped his head to kiss her shoulder, “Anyway, gossip spreads like wildfire in the barracks, but if there were nothing for them to talk about, I would regret it more.”

Eala chuckled sleepily and snuggled against him. His heart swelled. He tucked his head between her neck and shoulder and sighed contentedly, allowing himself to drift to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Come follow me on [Tumblr](http://windysuspirations.tumblr.com) if that's your thing.


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